









0D004bbEb75 




Class_p^ lio'O 

Book^^ -r " ' 

GopghtN" 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POETICAL WORKS 



OP 



IVILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



OOLLBOTBD AND AKBANOSB 



BY THE AUTHOK. 



NEW YORK: 

D. APPLETON" AND COMPANY, 

1906. 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Cooics Received 

MAh 31 1906 

Copyriffht Entry 

CLASS <Z. XXC. No, 
COPY B. ^ 



Entered. accordiiiL' to Act of Conjrress. in the year 1854. by 
W. C. BRYANT, in the Clerks Office of " tlie district' 
Court of the United States for the Soutliern District of New 
York. 



Entered, aecordinj,' to Act of CoDjjresp, in the year 1871, bv 
W. C. BRYANT, in the Office of tlie Librarian of Congress, 
at Washiuyton. 



Kntered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1878, by 
W. C. BRYANT, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, 
at Washington. 



Copyright, 190G, by JULIA S. BRYANT. 



TO THE READBK 

[PEEFIXED TO THE EDITION OP 1648.] 



Perhaps it would have been well if the authei 
had followed his original intention, which was U 
leave out of this edition, as unworthy of republica- 
tion, several of the poems which made a part of hig 
previous collections. He asks leave to plead the 
judgment of a literary friend, whose opinion in such 
matters he highly values, as his apology for having 
retained them. With the exception of the first and 
longest poem in the collection, " The Ages," they are 
oU arranged according to the order of time in whicl) 
Ihey were written, as far as it can be ascertained. 
yew York, 184d 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The present edition has been carefully revised bj 
the author, and some faults of diction and versifica- 
do3 corrected. A few poems have been added from 
the Red-Line Edition of the author's poems, to make 
the collection complete. 

I^mo York. February 1874. 



CONTENTS. 



Poaoffl. ^'^ 

The Ages, ' • • ^^ 

Thanatopsis, - • ^ 

- The YeUow Violet, 26 

" in«cription for the Entrance to a Wood, 27 



Song, 



29 



To a Waterfowl, 29 

Green River, 81 

A Winter Piece, 83 

The West Wind, 86 

The Burial-place.— A Fragnaent, 81 

" Blessed are they that Monm," 89^ 

"ITo man knoweth his Sepulchre," 40 

A Walk at Sunset, 41 

Hymn to Death, 48 

TheMassacieat Scio, • 48 

The Indian Girl's Lament, 48 

Ode for an Agricultural Celebration, 50 

Rizpah, ••• ^1 

The Old Man's Funeral, 53 

TheEiTulet, ^ 

March, ^^ 

Consumption, ^^ 

An Indian Story, 59 



8 OONTENrS. 

POEHS. •^»g* 

Summer Wind, 62 

An Indian at the Burial-place of his Fathers, 64 

Song, G6 

Hymn of the Waldensea, 68 

Monument Mountain, 69 

After a Tempest, 78 

Autumn "Woods, 76 

Mutation,. 77 

November, 77 

Song of the Greek Amazon, 78 

To a Cloud, 79 

The Murdered Traveller, 88 

Hymn to the North Star, 82 

The Lapse of Time, 88 

Song of the Stars, 85 

A Forest Hymn, 87 ' 

" Oh Fairest of the Knral Maids," 90 

" I broke the spell that held me long," 91 

-~ June, 92 

A Song of Pitcairn's Island, 94 

The Firmament, 95 

" I cannot forget with what fervid devotion,". 97 

To a Musquito, 98 

Lines on Eevisiting the County, 101 

The Death of the Flowers, 102 

Romero, 104 

A Meditation on Bhode-Island Coal, 106 

The New Moon, 109 

October, 110 

The Damsel of Peru, Ill 

The African Chief,.,. 113 

Spring in Town, 118 

The Gladness of Nature, .... 117 

The Disinterred Warrior, 118 

Midsummer, 180 

The Greek Partisan IM 



CONTENTS. 9 

/ 

Poems. t Pago 

The Two Graves, 123 

The Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus, 124 

A Summer Bamble, 127 

A. Scene on the Banks of the Hudson, 129 

'-^ The Hurricano, 13( 

William Tell, 182 

The Hunter's Serenade, , 132 

The Greek Boy, 134 

The Past, 136 

" Upon the Mountain's Distant Head,". 138 

The Evening Wind, 188 

"When the Firmament Quivers with Daylight's Young 

Beam," 140 

" Innocent Child and Snow-white Flower," 141 

To the River Arvc, 142 

To Cole, the Painter, departing for Europe, 143 

"«>-, To the Fringed Gentian, 144 

The Twenty-second of December, 145 

Hymn of the City, 140 

The Prairies, 147 

Song of Marion's Men, 150 

The Arctic Lover, 152 

The Journey of Life, , . . 154 

FSANSLATIONS. 

Version of a Fragment of Simonides, 155 

From the Spanish of Villegas, 156 

Mary Magdalen. (From the Spanish of Bartolom6 Leon- 
ardo de Argensola), 157 

The Life of the Blessed. (From the Spanish of Luis 

Ponce de Leon), 158 

Fatima and Eaduan. (From the Spanish), 159 

Love and Folly. (From La Fontaine), 161 

TheSiesta. (From the Spanish), 168 

The Alcayde df Molina. (From the Spanish), 164 

The Death of A liatar. (From the Spanish) IfiS 



iO CONTENTS. 

Translations. Page. 

Love in the Age of Chivalry. (From Peyre Vldal, the 

Troubadour), 168 

The Love of God, (From the Provencal of Bernard 

fiascas), 161 

From the Spanish of Pedro de Castro y Aflaya, 170 

Sonnet (From the Portuguese of Semedo), 171 

Song. (From the Spanish of Igleslas), 172 

The Count of Greiers. (From the German of Uhland),. 178 

The Serenade. (From the Spanish), 176 

A Northern Legend. (From the German of Uhland), . . 177 
The Paradise of Tears. (From the German of N. Mul- 

ler), 178 

The Lady of Castle Windeck. (From the German of 

Chamisso), '..... 179 

La TIB Poems. 

To the Apennines, 182 

Earth, 184 

The Knight's Epitaph, 187 

Tbe Hunter of the Prairies, 188 

Seventy-six, 190 

The Living Lost, 192 

Catterskill Falls, 193 

The Strange Lady, 197 

Life, 199 

" Earth's children cleave to earth," 201 

The Hunter's Vision, 202 

The Green Mountain Boys, 204 

A Presentiment, 206 

The Child's Funeral, 20fl 

The Battle-field, 20S 

The Future Lifb, 209 

The Death of Schiller, 211 

The Fountain, 213 

The Winds, 2H 

The Old Man's Counsel. 218 



CONTENTS. 11 

LiTEB Poems P«g« 

In Memory of Wl.liam Leggett, , , .. .. 221 

An Evening Eevery, 222 

The Painted Cup, 224 

A Dream, 225 

The Antiquity of Freedom, 22." 

The Maiden's Sorrow, 229 

The Eeturn of Youth, 230 

A Hymn of the Sea, 231 

Noon. (From an unfinished Poem), 234 

The Crowded Street 236 

The White-footed Deer, 237 

The Waning Moon, 240 

The Stream of Life, 242 

The Unknown Way, 242 

" Oh Mother of a Mighty Eace," 244 

The Land of Dreams, 246 

The Burial of Love, 247 

The May-sun sheds an Amber Light, 249 

The Yolce of Autumn, 250 

The Conqueror's Grave, . . : 252 

The Planting of the Apple-Tree, 254 

The Snow-Shower, 257 

A Eain-Dream, 259 

Eobert of Lincoln 261 

The Twenty-seventh of March, 263 

An Invitation to the Country, 265 

Bong for New- Year s Eve, 267 

The Wind and Stream, 268 

The Lost Bird. — From the Spanish of Carolina Coro- 

nado, 269 

The Night- Journey of a Elver, 27C 

The Life that Is, 273 

Bong. — " These Prairies Glow with Flowers," 275 

A Sick-Bed, 276 

The Song of the Sower, 278 

rhe New and the Old. 284 



12 CONTENTS. 

Later Poems. Page 

The Cloud on the Way, 285 

The Tides, 287 

.Italy, 289 

A Day-Dream, 291 

The Ruins of Italica. — From the Spanish of Rioja, 294 

Waiting by the Gate, 297 

Not Yet, 299 

Our Country's Call, 300 

The Constellations, 302 

The Third of November, 1861, 304 

The Mother's Hymn, 306 

Sella, 307 

The Fifth Book of Homer's Odyssey.— Translated,.. . . 321 

The Little People of the Snow, 337 

The Poet, 347 

The Path, 349 

The Return of the Birds, 351 

" He hath put all things under His feet," 853 

My Autumn Walk, 354 

Dante, 357 

The Death of Lincoln, . . 358 

The Death of Slavery, 358 

'■ Receive thy Sight," 361 

A Brighter Day, 362 

Among the Trees 364 

May Evening 36S 

October, 1866, 370 

The Order of Nature, 372 

Tree-Burial .373 

A Legend of the Dela wares, 375 

A Lifetime 380 

The Two Travellers, 385 

Christmas in 1875, 388 

Tlie Flood of Years 390 

Our Fellow- Worshippers, 394 

Notes 397 



POEMS. 



THE AGES. 



Ween to ilie common rest that crowns our days, 
Called in the noon of life, the good man goes, 
Or full of years, and ripe in wisdom, lays 
His silver temples in their last repose ; 
When, o'er the buds of youth, the death-wind blows, 
And blights the fairest ; when our bitter tears 
Stream, as the eyes of those that love us close, 
We think on what they were, with many fears 
Lest goodness die with them, and leave the coming 
years. 

n. 

And therefore, to our hearts, the days gone by, 
When lived the honoured sage whose death we wept, 
\nd the soft virtues beamed from many an eye. 
And beat in many a heart that long has slept, — 
Like spots of earth where angel-feet have stepped, 
Are holy ; and high-dreaming bards have told 
Of times when worth was crowned, and faith was kept. 
Ere friendship grew a snare, or love waxed cold — 
Those pure and happy times — the golden days of old 



14 POEMS. 

m. 

Peace to the just man's memory; let it grow 

Greener with years, and blossom througli the flight 

Of ages; let the mimic canvas show 

His calm benevolent features ; let the light 

Stream on his deeds of love, that shunned the sight 

Of all but heaven, and in the book of fame, 

The glorious record of his virtues write, 

And hold it up to men, and bid them claim 

A palm like his, and catch from him the hallowed flame 

rv. 
But oh, despair not of their fate who rise 
To dwell upon the earth when we withdraw 1 
Lo 1 the same shaft by which the righteous dies, 
Strikes through the wretch that scoffed at mercy's law 
And trode his brethren down, and felt no awe 
Of Him who will avenge them. Stainless worth, 
Such as the sternest age of virtue saw. 
Ripens, meanwhile, till time shall call it forth 
From the low modest shade, to light and bless the earth 



Has Nature, in her calm, majestic march 
Faltered with age at last ? does the bi'ight sun 
Grow dim in heaven? or, in their far blue arch, 
Sparkle the crowd of stars, when day is done. 
Less brightly ? when the dew-lipped Spring comes ^n 
Breathes she with airs less soft, or scents the sky 
With flowers less fair than when her reign begun I 
Does prodigal Autumn, to our age, deny 
The plenty that oncfi swelled beneath his sober eye! 

VL 

Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth 
In her fair page ; see, every season brings 
New change, to her, of everlasting youth ; 
Still the green soil, with joyous living things, 



THE AGES. Ifi 

B warms, the wide air is full of joyous wings, 

And myriads, still, are happy in the sleep 

Of ocean's azure gulfs, and where he flings 

The restless surge. Eternal Love doth keep 

In his complacent arms, the earth, the air, the deep. 

vn. 

Will then the merciful One, who stamped our lace 

With his own image, and who gave them sway 

O'er earth, and the glad dwellers on her face, 

Now that our swarming nations far away 

Are spread, where'er the moist earth drinks the day 

Forget the ancient care that taught and nursed 

His latest offspring ? wiU he quench the ray 

Infused by his own forming smile at first. 

And leave a work so fair all blighted and accursed > 

vm. 

Oh, no ! a thousand cheerful omens give 
Hope of yet happier days, whose dawn is nigh. 
He who has tamed the elements, shall not live 
The slave of his own passions ; he whose eye 
Unwinds the eternal dances of the sky. 
And in the abyss of brightness dares to span 
The sun's broad circle, rising yet more high. 
In God's magnificent works his will shaU scan — 
And love and peace shall make their paradise witi: 
man. 

IX. 

Sit at the feet of history — -through the night 
Of years the steps of virtue she shall ti'viec. 
And show the earlier ages, where her sight. 
Can pierce the eternal shadows o'er their face , — 
When, from the genial cradle of our race, 
Went forth the tribes of men, their pleasant lot 
To choose, where palm-groves cooled their dwelling 
place. 



16 POEMS. 

Or freshening riv jrs ran ; and there forgot 
The truth of heaven, and kneeled to gods that heard 
them Pot. 



rhen waited nut the murderer for the night, 
But smote his brother down in the bright day, 
And he who felt the wrong, and had the might, 
His own avenger, girt himself to slay ; 
Beside the path the unburied carcass lay , 
The shepherd, by the fountains of the glen. 
Fled, while the robber swept his flock away, 
And slew his babes. The sick, untended then. 
Languished in the damp shade, and died afar from men 

XL 

But misery brought in love ; in passion's strife 
Man gave his heart to mercy, pleading long, 
And sought out gentle deeds to gladden life ; 
The weak, against the sons of spoil and wrong. 
Banded, and watched their hanalets, and grew strong 
States rose, and, in the shadow of their might, 
The timid rested. To the reverent throng, 
Grave and time-wrinkled men, with locks aU while, 
Gave laws, and judged their strifes, and taught the 
way of right ; 

xn. 

Till bolder spirits seized the rule, and nailea 
On men the yoke that man should never bear. 
And drove them forth to battle. Lo ! unveiled 
The scene of those stern ages I What is there t 
A boundless sea. of blood, and the wild air 
Moans with the crimson surges that entomb 
Cities and bannered armies ; forms that wear 
The kingly circlet rise, amid the gloom. 
O'er the dark wave, and straight are swallowed in ft» 
womb. 



TFE AGK8. 17 

xm. 

Chose ages aave no memory, but they left 

A- record in the desert — columns strewn 

On the waste sands, and statues fallen and cleft, 

Pleaped like a host in battle overthrown ; 

Vast ruins, where the mountain's ribs of stone 

Were hewn into a city ; streets that spread 

In the dark earth, where never breath has blown 

Of hea"v en's sweet air, nor foot of man dares tread 

The long and perilous ways — the Cities of the Dead 

XIV. 

And tombs of monarchs to the clouds up-piled — 
They perished, but the eternal tombs remain — 
And the black precipice, abrupt and wild, 
Pierced by long toil and hollowed to a fane ; — 
Huge piers and frowning forms of gods sustain 
The everlasting arches, dark and wide. 
Like the night-heaven, when clouds are black with rain 
But idly skill was tasked, and strength was plied, 
AU was the work of slaves to swell a despot's pridei 

XV. 

And Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign 
O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke ; 
She left the down-trod nations in disdain, 
And flew to Greece, when Liberty awoke, 
New-born, amid those glorious vales, and broke 
Sceptre and chain with her fair youthful hands: 
As rocks are shivered in the thunder-stroke. 
And lo I in full-grown strength, an empire stands 
Of leagued and rival states, the wonder of the lands 

XVL 

Oh, Greece I thy flourishing cities were a spoil 
Unto each other ; thy hard hand oppressed 
And crushed the helpless ; thou didst make thy soil 
f)ruuk with the Mood of those that loved thee beat* 
2 



16 POEMS. 

And thou didst drive, from thy unnatural breast 
Thy just and brave to die in distant climes ; 
Earth shuddered at thy deeds, and sighed for rest 
From thine abominations ; after times. 
That yet shall read thy tale, will tremble at thy erimb* 

xvn. 

Yet there was that within thee which has saved 
Thy glory, and redeemed thy blotted name ; 
The story of thy better deeds, engraved 
On fame's unmouldering pillar, puts to shame 
Our chiUer virtue ; the high art to tame 
The whirlwind of the passions was thine own, 
And the pure ray, that from thy bosom came, 
Far ovei- many a land and age has shone. 
And mingles with the light that beams from God's ow? 
throne. 

XVUL 

And Rome — thy sterner, younger sister, she 
Who awed the woild with her imperial frown- 
Rome drew the spirit of her race from thee, 
The rival of thy shame and thy renown. 
Yet her degenerate children sold the crown 
Of earth's wide kingdoms to a line of slaves ; 
Guilt reigned, and wo with guilt, and plagues camt 

down, 
Till the north broke its floodgates, and the waves 
Whelmed the degraded race, and weltered o'er tl ei: 

graves. 

XIX. 

Vainly that ray of brightness from above, 
That shone around the Galilean lake, 
The light of hope, the leading star of love, 
Struggled, the darkness of that day to break, 
Even its own faithless guardians strove to slake 
£n fogs of earth, the pure ethereal flame ; 
And priestly hand?, for Jesus' blessed sake. 



IHE AGKS. 18 

Were red wiiii blood, and charity became, 

[n that stern war of forms, a mockery and a name. 

XX. 

rhey triumphed, and less bloody rites were kept 
Within the quiet of the convent cell ; 
The well-fed inmates pattered prayer, and slept, 
And sinned, and liked their easy penance welL 
Where pleasant was the spot for men to dwell, 
Amid its fair broad lands the abbey lay, 
Sheltering dark orgies that were shame to tell, 
And cowled and barefoot beggars swarmed the way, 
All in their convent weeds, of black, and white, &n<] 
gray. 

XXL 

Oh, sweetly the returning muses' strain 
Swelled over that famed stream, whose gentle tide 
In their bright lap the Etrurian vales detain. 
Sweet, as when winter storms have ceased to chide, 
And all the new-leaved woods, resounding wide. 
Send out wild hymns upon the scented air. 
Lo 1 to the smiling Arno's classic side 
The emulous nations of the west repair. 
And kindle their quenched urns, and drink fresh spiril 
there. 

Still, Heaven deferred the hour ordained to rend 
From saintly rottenness the sacred stole ; 
And cowl and worshipped shrine could still defend 
The wretch with felon stains u])on his soul ; 
And crimes were set to sale, and hard his dole 
Who could not bribe a passage to the skies ; 
And vice, beneath the mitre's kind control, 
Binned gaily on, and grew to giant size. 
Shielded by priestly power, and watched by priestly 
cyea 



%f\ rOEMB. 

XXIIL 

At last the earthquake came — the shock, that hurl©^ 
To dust, in mauy fragments dashed and strown, 
The throne, whose roots were in another world, 
And whose far-stretching shadow awed our own. 
From many a proud monastic pile, o'erthrown, 
Fear-sti'uck, the hooded inmates rushed and fled ; 
The web, that for a thousand years had grown 
O'er prostrate Europe, in that day of dread 
Crumbled and fell, as fire dissolves the flaxen thread 

XXIV. 

The spirit of that day is still awake. 
And spreads himself, and shall not sleep again ; 
But through the idle mesh of power shall break 
I (ike billows o'er the Asian monarch's chain ; 
Till men are filled with him, and feel how vain, 
Instead of the pure heart and innocent hands, 
Are all the proud and pompous modes to gain 
The smile of Heaven ; — till a new age expands 
Its white and holy wings above the peaceful lands. 

XXV. 

For look again on the past years ; — ^behold, 

How like the nightmare's dreams have flown away 

Horrible forms of worship, that, of old. 

Held, o'er the shuddering realms, unquestioned sway 

See crimes, that feared not once the eye of day, 

Rooted from men, without a name or place : 

See nations blotted out from earth, to pay 

The forfeit of deep guilt ; — with glad embrace 

The fair disburdened lands welcome a nobler race. 



Thus error's monstrous shapes from earth are driven 
They fade, they fly — ^but truth survives their flight; 
Earth has no shades to quench that beam of heaver 
^ch ray that shone, in early time, to light 



THE AGES. 21 

rhe faltering footstep in the path of right, 

Bach gleam of clearer brightness shed to aid 

In man's maturer day his bolder sight, 

All blended, like the rainbow's radiant braid, 

Pour yet, and stiU shall pour, the blaze that caanot fade 

XX.VU. 

Late, from this western shore, that morning chased 
The deep and ancient night, which threw its shroud 
O'er the green land of groves, the beautifiil waste, 
Nurse of full streams, and lifter-up of proud 
Sky-mingling mountains that o'erlook the cloud. 
ErewhUe, where yon gay spires their brightness rear, 
Trees waved, and the brown hunter's shouts were 

loud 
Amid the forest ; and the bounding deer 
Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yelled 

near. 

xxvin. 

And where his willing waves yon bright blue bay 

Sends up, to kiss his decorated brim. 

And cradles, in his soft embrace, the gay 

Young group of grassy islands born of him, 

And crowding nigh, or in the distance dim, 

Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear or bring 

The commerce of the world ; — with tawny limb, 

And belt and beads in sunlight glistening. 

The savage urged his skiff like wUd bird on the wing 

Then aJ this youthful paradise around. 
And all the broad and boundless mainland, lay 
Cooled by the interminable wood, that frowned 
O'er mount and vale, where never summer ray 
Glanced, till the strong tornado broke his way 
Throiigh the gray giants of the sylvan wild ; 
Vet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay 



22 POEMS. 

Beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild, 
Within the shaggy arms of that dark forest smiled 

XXX. 

There stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake 
Spread its blue sheet that flashed wHh many an 

oar. 
Where the brown otter plunged him from the brakoj 
And the deer drank : as the light gale flew o'er. 
The twinkling maize-field rustled on the shore; 
And while that spot, so wild, and lone, and fair, 
A look of glad and guiltless beauty wore, 
And peace was on the earth and in the air, 
The warrior lit the pile, and bound his captive there 

XX XT. 

Not unavenged — the foeman, from the wood. 
Beheld the deed, and when the midnight shade 
Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe with blood ; 
All died — the wailing babe — the shrieking maid — 
And in the flood of fire that scathed the glade, 
Tlie roofs went down ; but deep the silence grew, 
When on the dewy woods the day -beam played ; 
No more the cabin smokes rose wreathed and blue. 
And ever, by their lake, lay moored the bark canoe 

xxxn. 

Ijook now abroad — another race has filled 
These popidous borders — wide the wood recedes, 
And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled: 
The land is full of harvests and green meads ; 
Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds, 
Shine, disembowered, and give to sun and breeze 
Their virgin waters ; the full region leads 
New colonies forth, that toward the western seas 
Spread, like a rapid flame among the a\itumnal tre©i 



THE AGES. 23 

xxxm 

H'sre the free spirit of mankind, at lengihi, 

llirows its last fetters off ; and who shall place 

A limit to the giant s unchained strength, 

Or curb his swiftness in the forward race ? 

On, like the comet's way through infinite space. 

Stretches the long untravelled path of light, 

Into the depths of ages; we may trace. 

Afar, the brightening glory of its flight. 

Till the receding rays are lost to hmnan sight. 

XXXIV. 

Europe is given a prey to sterner fates, 

And writhes in shackles ; strong the arms that chahi 

To earth her struggling multitude of states ; 

She too is strong, and might not chafe in vain 

A.gainst them, but might cast to earth the train 

That trample her, and break their iron net. 

Yes, she shall look on brighter days and gain 

The meed of worthier deeds ; the moment set 

To rescue and raise up, draws near — but is not yet, 

XXXV. 

Bat thou, my country, thou shalt never fall. 
Save with thy children — thy maternal care, 
Thy lavish love, thy blessings showered on all — 
These are thy fetters — seas and stormy air 
Are the wide barrier of thy borders, where. 
Among thy gallant sons that guard thee well. 
Thou laugh'st at enemies : who shall then declare 
The date of thy deep-founded strength, or teU 
How happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dwell ? 



24 I^OEDSB. 



THANATOPSIS. 

To him who Lu the love of Nature holds 
Commuujon with her visible forms, she speakt 
A various language; for his gayer lioui-s 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
Into his darker musings, with a mild 
And healing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughtt 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall. 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house. 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — 
Go forth, under the open sl^^, and list 
To Nature's teachings, while from ail around — 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air, — 
Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
[n all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground. 
Where thy pale form was laid, with many teal's 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall clain 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, 
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix for ever with the elements. 
To be a brother to the insensible rock 
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould 



THAN.ATOPSIS. 25 

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, nor co.uldst thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings. 
The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
The venerable woods — rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun. 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven. 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death. 
Through the still lapse -of ages. All that tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. — ^Take the wings 
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, 
Or lose thyself in the contmuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound. 
Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there ; 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
His favourite phantom ; yet aU these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men. 
rhe youth in life's gr<^en spring, and he who goes 



ZG POEMB. 

In ILe full strength of years, matron, and maid, 

The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man,— 

Shall one by one be gathered to thy side. 

By those, who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, which moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death. 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothe J 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave. 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams 



THE YELLOW VIOLET. 

When beechen buds begin to swell, 
And woods the blue-bird's warble kno^jv 

The yellow violet's modest bell 

Peeps from the last year's leaves below 

Ere russet fields their green resume. 
Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare, 

To meet thee, when thy faint perfume 
Alone is in .the virgin air. 

Of all her train, the hands ot Sprmg 
First plant thee in the watery mould, 

And I have seen thee blossoming 
Beside the snow-bank's edges cold 



IN80EIPTI0N FOE THE ENTEANOB TO A WOOD, 

Thy parent sun, who Lade thee view 
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip, 

Has bathed thee in his own bright hue, 
And streaked with jet thy glowing lip. 

Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat. 

And earthward bent thy gentle eye, 
[Jnapt the passing view to meet. 

When loftier flowers are flaunting nigb 

Oft, in the sunless April day, 

Thy early smUe has stayed my waJk ; 

But midst the gorgeous blooms of May, 
I passed thee on thy humble stalk. 

So they, who climb to wealth, forget 
The friends in darker fortunes tried. 

I copied them — but I regret 

That I should ape the ways of pride. 

And when again the genial hour 
Awakes the painted tribes of light, 

Fll not o'erlook the modest flower 
That made the woods of April bright. 



INSCRIPTION FOR THE ENTRANCE TO A WOOD 

Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needf 
No school of long experience, that the world 
[s full of guilt and misery, and nast seen 
Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and caies 
To tire thee of it. enter this wild wood 



28 POEM8 

And \iew the haunts cf Nature. The calm shade 

Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze 

That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm 

To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here 

Of aU that pained thee in the haunts of meu, 

And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse 

Fell, it is true, upon the unsinuing earth. 

But not in vengeance. God hath yuked to guilt 

Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence, these shades 

Are still the abodes of gladness ; the thick roof 

Of green and stirring branches is alive 

And musical with birds, that sing and sport 

In wantonness of spirit ; while below 

The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect, 

Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the ghnle 

Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam 

That waked them into life. Even the green trees 

Partake the deep contentment ; as they bend 

To the soft winds, the sun fi-om the blue sky 

Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene. 

Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy 

Existence, than the winged plunderer 

That sucks its sweets. The mossy rocks themselves, 

And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees 

That lead fi*om knoll to knoll a causey rude 

Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots 

With all their earth upon them, twisting high. 

Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet 

Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed 

Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, 

Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice 

[a its own being. Softly tread the marge. 

Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren 

That dips her bill in water. The cool wind, 

rhat stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee, 

Like one that loves thee nor will let thee pass 

Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace 



»0 A WATEEFOWL. Sit 



SONG 

Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow 
Reflects the day-dawn cold and clear^ 

The hunter of the west must go 
In depth of woods to seek the deer, 

His rifle on his shoulder placed, 

His stores of death arranged with skill. 

His moccasins and snow-shoes laced, — 
Why lingers he beside the hill I 

Far, in the dim and doubtful light, 
Whei e woody slopes a valley leave, 

He sees what none but lover might, 
The dwelling of his Genevieve. 

And oft he turns his truant eye, 
And pauses oft, and lingers near ; 

But when he marks the reddening sky, 
He bounds away to hunt the deer. 



TO A WATERFOWL. 

Whtther, midst falling dew. 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of dsj 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou persue 

Thy solitary way ? 



so POBMB. 

Vainly tlie fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thoe wroug 
ka, darkly seen against the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean side ? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast - 
The desert and illimitable air, — 

Lone wandering, but not lost 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end , 
Soon shalt thou find a sununer home, and rest, 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, 

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart. 

He who, from zone to zone, 
Ouides through the boundless sky thy certain flighV 
II the long way that I must tread alone, 

"Will lead my steps aright 



GBSSN KITSB. 81 



GREEN RIVER. 

When breezes are soft and skies are fair, 
I steal an hour from study and care, 
lad hie me away to the woodland scene, 
Where wanders the stream with waters of green, 
As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink 
Had given their stain to the wave they drink ; 
And they, whose meadows it murmurs through, 
Have named the stream from its own fair hue. 

Yet pure its waters — its shallows are bright 
With coloured pebbles and sparkles of light, 
And clear the depths where its eddies i>lay, 
And dimples deepen and whirl away, 
And the plane-tree's speckled arms o'ershoot 
The swifter current that mines its root, 
Through whose shifting leaves, as you walk the hili^ 
The quivering glimmer of sun and rill 
With a sudden flash on the eye is thrown, 
Like the ray that streams from the diamond-s* na 
Oh, loveliest there the spring days come. 
With blossoms, and birds, and wild bees' hum 
The flowers of summer are fairest there, 
And freshest the breath of the summer air; 
And sweetest the golden autumn day 
In silence and sunshine glides away. 

Yet fair as thou art, thou shimnest to ghd» 
Beautiful stream 1 by the village side ; 
But windest away from haunts of men. 
To quiet valley and shaded glen ; 
And forest, and meadow, and slope of hilL 
Ground thee, are lonely, lovely, and stilL 



B2 POEMB. 

Lonely — save when, by thy rippling tides, 
From thicket to thicket the angler glides ; 
Or the simpler conies, with basket and book. 
For herbs of power on thy banks to look : 
Or haply, some idle dreamer, like me, 
To wander, and muse, and gaze on thee. 
Still — save the chirp of birds that feed 
On the river cherry and seedy reed, 
A.nd thy own wild music gushing out 
With mellow murmur or fairy shout, 
From dawn to the blush of another day, 
Like traveller singing along his way. 

That fairy music I never hear, 
Nor gaze on those waters so green and clear, 
And mark them winding away from sight, 
Darkened with shade or flashing with light. 
While o'er them the vine to its thicket clings. 
And the zephyr stoops to freshen his wings, 
But I wish that fate had left me free 
To wander these quiet haunts with thee. 
Till the eating cares of earth should depart. 
And the peace of the scene pass into my heart •, 
And I envy thy stream, as its glides along. 
Through its beautiful banks in a trance of song. 

Though forced to drudge for the dregs of men, 
And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pex 
And mingle among the jostling crowd, 
Where the sons of strife are subtle and ioud— 
I often come to this quiet place, 
To breathe the airs that rufBe thy face. 
And gaze upon thee in silent dream. 
For in thy lonely and lovely stream 
An image of that calm life appears 
That won my heart in my greener years. 



A WINTEB PI£0£. 06 



A WINTER PIECE. 

The time has been that these wild solitudes, 
Yet beautiful as wild, were trod by me 
Offcener than now ; and when the ills of life 
Had chafed my spirit — when the unsteady pulse 
Beat with strange flutterings — I would wander forth 
And seek the woods. The sunshine on my path 
Was to me as a friend The swelling hills, 
The quiet dells retiring far between, 
With gentle invitation to explore 
Their windings, were a calm society 
That talked with me and soothed me. Then the chani 
Of birds, and chime of brooks, and soft caress 
Of the fresh sylvan air, made me forget 
The thoughts that broke my peace, and I began 
To gather simples by the fountain's brink, 
And lose myself in day-dreams. While I stood 
In nature's loneliness, I was with one 
With whom I early grew familiar, one 
Who never had a frown for me, whose voice 
Never rebuked me for the hours I stole 
From cares I loved not, but of which the world 
Deems highest, to converse with her. When shrieked 
The bleak November winds, and smote the woods. 
And the brown fields were herbless, and the shaden. 
That met above the merry rivulet, 
Were spoiled, I sought, I loved them still ; they seemed 
Like old companions in adversity. 
Still there was beauty in my walks ; the brooV 
Bordered with sparkling frost-work, was as gay 
As with its fringe of summer flowers. Afar. 
The village with its spires, the path of stream« 
8 

y 



34 POEMB. 

A.nd dim receding valleys, Lid before 

By interposing trees, lay visible 

Through the bare grove, and my familiar haunta 

Seemed new to me. Nor was I slow to come 

4.mong them, wheji the clouds, from their still skitt* 

Had shaken down ou earth the feathery snow, 

And ail was white. The pure keen air abroad, 

Albeit it breathed no scent of herb, uor heard 

Love-cull of bii'd nor merry hum of bee, 

Was not the air of death. Bright mosses crept 

Over the spotted trunks, and the close buds. 

That l;iy along the boughs, instinct with life, 

Patient, and waiting the soft breath of Sipring, 

Feared not the piercing spirit of the North. 

The snow-bird twittered on the beechen bough, 

And 'neath the hemlock, whose thick branches bent 

Beneath its bright cold burden, and kept dry 

A circle, on the earth, of withered leaves, 

The paitridge fjund a shelter. Through the sno^v 

The r;ibl)it sprang away. The lighter track 

Of fox, and the racoon's broad path, were there, 

Crossing each other. From his hollow tree, 

The squirrel was abroad, gathering the nuts 

Just fallen, that asked the winter cold and sway 

Of winter blast, to shake them from their hold. 

But Winter has yet brighter scenes, — he boasts 
Bpleudors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows : 
Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods 
All flushed with many hues. Come when the raiur 
Have ghized the snow, and clothed the trees with iiv 
While the slant sun of February pours 
Into the bowei's a Hood of light. Approach! 
The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps. 
And the broad arching portals of the grove 
Welcome thy entering. Look 1 the massy trunhrs 
Are cased in the pure crystal; each light spray, 
tsodding an<i tinkling in the breath of heaven. 



A WINTEE I'lEOE. 81 

Is studded with its trembling water-drops. 

That glimmer with an amethystine light. 

But round the parent stem the long low boughs 

Bend, in a glittering ring, and arbors hide 

The glassy floor. Oh ! you might deem the spot 

The spacious cavern of some virgin mine, 

Deep in the womb of earth — where the gems grow 

And diamonds put forth radiant rods and bud 

With amethyst and topaz — and the place 

Lit up, most royally, with the pure beam 

That dwells in them. Or haply the vast hall 

Of fairy palace, that outlasts the night, 

And fades not in the glory of the sun ; — 

Where crystal colmnns send forth slender shafta 

And crossing arches ; and faiitastic aisles 

Wind from the sight in brightness, and are lost 

Among the crowded pillars. Raise thine eye ; 

Thou seest no cavern roof, no palace vault ; 

There the blue sky and the white drifting cloud 

Look iu. Again the wildered fancy dreams 

Of spouting fountains, frozen as they rose. 

And fixed, with all their branching jets, in air, 

And all their sluices sealed. All, all is light ; 

Light without shade. But all shall pass away 

With the next sun. From numberless vast trunks, 

Loosened, the crashing ice shall make a sound 

Like the far roar of rivers, and the eve 

Shall close o'er the brown woods as it was wont. 

And it is pleasant, when the noisy streams 
Are just set free, and milder suns melt off 
Hie plashy snow, save only the firm drift 
In the deep glen or the close shade of pines, — 
Tis pleasant to behold the wreaths of smoke 
Roll up among the maples of the hill. 
Where the shrill sound of youthful voices wakes 
The shriller echo, as the clear p\ire lymph, 
Tbat from the wounded trees, in twinkling drops. 



86 POEMS. 

Falls, mid the golden brightuess of the mom, 
Is gathered in with brimming pails, and^ oft, 
Wielded by sturdy hands, the stroke of axe 
Makes the woods ring. Along the quiet air. 
Come and float calmly off the soft light clouds, 
Such as you see in summer, and the winds 
Scarce stir the branches. Lodged in sunny cleft, 
Where the cold breezes come not, blooms alone 
The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye 
Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at, — 
Startling the loiterer in the naked groves 
With unexpected beauty, for the time 
Of blossoms and green leaves is yet afar. 
And ere it comes, the encountering winds shall oft 
Muster their wrath again, and rapid clouds 
Shade heaven, and bounding on the frozen earth 
Shall fall their volleyed stores, rounded like hail 
And white like snow, and the loud North again 
'than buffet the vexed forest in his rage. 



THE WEST WIND 

Beneath the forest's skirt I rest, 

Whose branching pines rise dark and higK 
And hear the breezes of the West 

Among the thread-like foliage sigh. 

Sweet Zephyr 1 why that sound ot woe J 
Is not thy home among the flowers ? 

Do not the bright June roses blow, 
To meet thy kiss at morning hours? 



THE BUEIAL-PLAOE. 3'J 

And lo 1 thy glorious realm outspread — 
Yon stretching valleys, green and gay, 

And yon free hill-tops, o'er whose head 
The loose white clouds are borne awa> 

And there the full broad river 'uns. 

And many a fount wells fresh and sweet 

To cool thee when the mid-day suns 

Have made thee faint beneath their heat. 

Thou wind of joy, and youth, and love ; 

Spirit of the new-wakened year 1 
The sun in his blue realm above 

Smooths a bright path when thou art hen 

[u lawns the murmuring bee is heard, 
The wooing ring-dove in the shade ; 

Ou. thy soft breath, the new-fledged bird 
Takes wing, lialf happy, half afraid. 

Ah ! thou art like our wa^^ward race ;— 

When not a shade of pain or ill 
Dims the bright smile of Nature's face, 

Thou lov'st to sigh and murmur still. 



THE BURIAL-PLACE 

A FRAGMENT. 

Erewhile. on England's pleasant shores, our sire: 
Left not their churchyards unadorned with shade? 
Or blossoms, but indulgent to the strong 
And atural dread of man's last home, the grave, 
'ts frost ^nd silence — they disposed around. 



38 POEMS. 

To sootLe the melaucholy spirit that dwelt 
Too sadly on life's close, the forms and hues 
Of vegetable beauty There the yew, 
Green even amid the snows of winter, told 
Of immortality, and gracefully 
The willow, a perpetual mourner, drooped ; 
And there the gadding woodbine crept about. 
And there the ancient ivy. From the spot 
Where the sweet maiden, in her blossoming yean 
Cut off, was laid with streaming eyes, and hands 
That trembled as they placed her there, the rose 
SpruTig modest, on bowed stalk, and better spoke 
Her graces, than the proudest monument. 
There children set about their playmate's grave 
The pansy. On the infant's little bed, 
Wet at its planting with maternal tears, 
Emblem of early sweetness, early death. 
Nestled the lowly primrose. Childless dames. 
And maidft that would not raise the reddened eye—- 
Orphan?, from whose young lids the light of joy 
Fled early, — silent lovers, who had given 
All that they lived for to the arms of earth, 
Came often, o'er the recent graves to strew 
Their offerings, rue, and rosemary, and flowers. 

The pilgrim bands who passed the sea to keep 
Their Sabbaths in the eye of God alone. 
In his wide temple of the wilderness. 
Brought not these .simple customs of the heart, 
With them. It might be, while they laid their dead 
By the vast solemn skirts of the old groves, 
And the fresh virgin soil poured forth strange flowen 
About their graves; and the familiar shades 
Of their own native isle, and wonted blooms, 
And herbs were wanting, which the pious hand 
Might plant or scatter there, these gentle rites 
Paesdd out of use. Now they are scuicely knowu 
And rarely in our borders may you niee<^ 



BLE8SE1J aj:]*; they that moukn." 8' 

'he tall larch, sighing in tlie bu.-ial-placej 
Or willow, trailing low its boughs to hide 
The gleaming marble, Naked rows of graves 
A ad melancholy ranks of monuments 
A re seen instead, where the coarse grass, between. 
Shoots up its dull green spikes, and in the wind 
Hisses, and the neglected bramllt nigh, 
(.)ti"er8 its berries to the schoolboy's hand, 
la vain — they gi'ow too near the dead. Yet here 
Nature, rebuking the neglect of man. 
Plants often, by the ancient mossy stone, 
riie brier rose, and upon the broken turf 
That clothes the fresher grave, the strawberry plan! 
Sprinkles its swell with blossoms, and lays forth 
Her ruddy, pouting fruit. ***** 



BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN* 

Oh, deem not they are blest alone 
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep ; 

The Power who pities man, has shown 
A blessing for the eyes that weep. 

The light of smiles shall fill again 
The lids that overflow with tears ; 

And weary hours of woe and pain 
Are promises of happier years. 

There is a day of sunny rest 

For every dark and troubled night; 

And grief may bide an evening guest, 
But joy shall come with early light 



40 POEMS. 

And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low biei 
Dost shed the bitter drops like rain, 

Hope that a brighter, happier sphere 
Will give him to thy arms again. 

Nor let the good man's trust depart, 
Though life its common gifts deny, — 

Though with a pierced and bleeding hear! 
And spurned of men, he goes to die. 

For God hath marked each sorrowing day 
And numbered every secret tear. 

And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay 
For all his children suffer here. 



NO MAN KNOWETH HIS SEPULCHBE.' 

When he, who, from the scourge of wroivC 
Aroused the Hebrew tribes to fly, 

Saw the fair region, promised long, 
And bowed him on the hills to die ; 

God made his grave, to men unknown, 
Where Moab's rocks a vale infold, 

And laid the aged seer alone 

To slumber while the world grows ol3 

Thus still, whene'er the good and just 
Close the dim eye on life and pain. 

Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust 
Till the pure spirit comes again. 



A WALK AT SUNSET. 41 

Though nameless, trampled, and foi-got, 

His servant's humble ashes lie, 
Yet God has marked and sealed the spot. 

To call its inmate to the sky. 



A WALK AT SUNSET. 

When insect wings are glistening in the beam 

Of the low sun, and mountain-tops are bright, 
Oh, let me, by the crystal valley-stream, 
Wander amid the mild and mellow light ; 
And while the wood-thrush pipes his evening lay, 
Give me one lonely hour to hymn the setting day. 

Oh, sun 1 that o'er the western mountains now 

Go'st down m glory ! ever beautiful 
And blessed is thy radiance, whetlier thou 

Colorest the eastern heaven and night-mist cooi, 
rill the bright day-star vanish, or on high 
Climbest and streamest thy white splendors from mid- 
sky. 

Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles. And fair, 

Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues 
That live among the clouds, and flush the air 
Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews. 
Hien softest gales are breathed, and softest heard 
rhe plaining voice of streams, and pensive note ol 
bird. 

Tliey who here roamed, of yore, the forest wide. 
Felt, by such charm, their simple bosoms won ; 

They deemed their quivered warrior, when he died 
Went to bright isles beneath the setting sun ; 



12 POEMS. 

Wlier« winds are aye at peace, and skies are fail, 
A.nd purple-ski rte.i clouds curtain the crimson air. 

So, with the glories of the dying day. 

Its thousand trembling lights and changing huea 
The memory of the brave who passed away 
Tenderly mingled ; — fitting hour to muse 
0(1 such grave theme, and sweet the dream that shed 
Brightness and beauty round the destiny of the dead 

For ages, on the silent forests here. 

Thy beams did fall befui~ the red man came 

To dwell beneath them; in their shade the deer 

Fed, and feared not the arrow's deadly aim. 

Nor tree was feUed ni all that world of woods, 

Bave by the beaver's tooth, or winds, or rush of floods 

Then came the hunter tribes, and thou didst look, 

For ages, on their deeds in the hard chase, 
Vud well-fought wars; green sod and silver brook 
Took the first stain of blood ; before thy face 
rhv warrior generations came and passed, 
A.na glory "vas laid up for many an age to last. 

Now they are gone, gone as thy setting blaze 

Goes down the west, while night is pressing on. 
And with them the old tale of better days. 
And trophies of remembered ]iower, ai-e gone. 
Yon field that gives the harvest, where the plough 
Strikes the white bone, is all that tells their story now 

I stand upon their ashes in thy beam. 

The offspring of another race, I stand. 
Beside a stream they loved, this valley stream ; 
And where the night-fire of the quivered band 
Showed the gray oak by fits, and war-song rung, 
f teach the quiet shades the strains of this new tongue 



HYMN TO DEATH. 48 

Farewell! but thou shalt come again — thy light 

Must shine on other changes, and behold 
The place of the thronged city still as night — 
States fallen — new empires built upon the eld — 
But never shalt thou see these realn^.s again 
Darkened by boundless groves, and roamed l-y eavag« 
men. 



HYMN TO DEATH. 

Oh I could I hope the wise and pure in heart 

Might hear my song without a frown, nor deem 

My voice unworthy of the theme it tries, — 

I would take up the hynm to Death, and say 

To the grim power, The world hath slandered thee 

And mocked thee. On thy dim and shadowy bro"W 

They place an iron crown, and call thee king 

Of terrors, and the spoiler of the world, 

Deadly assassin, that strik'st down the fair, 

The loved, the good — that breathest on the lights 

Of virtue set along the vale of life, 

And they go out in darkness. I am come, 

iSTot with reproaches, not with cries and prayers, 

:5uch as have stormed thy stern, insensible ear 

From the beginning; I am come to speak 

Thy praises. True it is, that I have wept 

Thy conquests, and may weep them yet again 

And thou from some I love wilt take a life 

Dear to me as my own. Yet while the speU 

is on my spirit, and I talk with thee 

In sight of all thy trophies, face to face, 

Meet is it that my voice should utter forth 

Thy nobler triumphs ; I will teach the world 



14 POBM& 

To thank thee. Who are thine accusers? — Whol 
rhe living ! — they who never feit thy power, 
And know thee not. The curses of the wretch 
Whose crimes are ripe, his sufferings when thy hand 
Ib on him, and the hour he dreads is come, 
Are writ among thy praises. But the good — 
Does he whom thy kind hand dismissed to peace. 
Upbraid the gentle violence that took off 
His fetters, and unbarred his prison cell ? 

Raise then the hymn to Death. Deliverer I 
God hath anointed thee to free the oppressed 
And crush the oppressor. When the armed chief. 
The conqueror of nations, walks the world, 
And it is changed beneath his feet, and all 
Its kingdoms melt into one mighty realm — 
Thou, while his head is loftiest and his heart 
Blasphemes, imagining his own right hand 
Almighty, thou dost set thy sudden grasp 
Upon him, and the links of that strong chain 
WTiich bound mankind are crumbled ; thou dost break 
Sceptre and crown, an ,i beat his throne to dust 
Then the earth shouts with gladness, and her tribes 
Gather within their ancient bounds again. 
Else had the mighty of the olden time, 
Nimrod, Sesostris, or the youth who feigned 
His birth from Libyan Ammon, smitten yet 
The nations with a rod of iron, and driven 
Their chariot o'er t>ur necks. Thou dost avenge, 
[n thy good time, the wrongs of those who know- 
No other friend. Nor dost thou interpose 
Only to lay the suffered asleep. 
Where he who made him wretched troubles not 
His rest — thou dost strike down his tyrant too. 
Oh, there is joy when hands that held the scourge 
Drop lifeless, and the pitiless heart is cold. 
Thou too dost purge from earth its horrible 
fiind old idolatries : — from the proud fanes 



HYMN TO DEATH. 45 

Each to his grave their priests go out, till uone 
Is left to teach their worship ; then the fires 
Of sacrifice are chilled, and the green moss 
O'ercreeps their altars; the fallen images 
Cumber the weedy courts, and for loud hymns, 
Chanted by kneeling multitudes, the wind 
Shrieks in the solitary aisles. When he 
Who gives his life to guilt, and lavighs at all 
The laws that God or man has made, and round 
Hedges his seat with power, and shines in wealth,*- 
Lifts up his atheist front to scoff at Heaven, 
And celebrates his shame in open day, 
Thou, in the pride of all his ci-imes, cutt'st off 
The horrible example. Touched by thme, 
The extortioner's hard hand foregoes the gold 
Wrung from the o'er-worn poor. The peijurer. 
Whose tongue was lithe, e'en now, and voluble 
Against his neighbor's life, and he who laughed 
And leaped for joy to see a spotless fame 
Blasted before his own foul calumnies. 
Are smit with deadly silence. He, who sold 
His conscience to preserve a worthless life, 
Even while he hugs himself on his escape, 
Trembles, as, doubly terrible, at length, 
Thy steps o'ertake him, and there is no time 
For parley, nor will bribes unclench thy grasp. 
Oft, too, dost thou reform thy victim, long 
Ere his last hour. And when the reveller, 
Mad in the chase of pleasure, stretches on. 
And strains each nerve, and clears the path of life 
Like wind, thou point'st him to the dreadful goal, 
And shak'st thy hour-glass in his reeling eye, 
And check'st him in mid course. Thy skeleton hanc 
Bhows to the faint of spirit the right path, 
And he is warned, and fears to step aside. 
Thou sett'st between the ruffian and his crime 
rhy ghastly countenance, and liis slack hand 
Vops the drawn knife. But, oh, most fearfully 



(6 POEMS. 

Dost thou show fortli Heaven's justice, when thy shaft* 

Drink up the ebbing spirit — then the hard 

Of heart and violent of hand restores 

The treasure to the friendless wretch he wronged. 

I'hen from the writhing bosom thou dost pluck 

The guilty secret ; lips, for ages sealed, 

Are faithless to their dreadful trust at length, 

And give it up ; the felon's latest breath 

Absolves the innocent man who bears his crime ; 

The slanderer, horror-smitten, and in tears, 

Recalls the deadly obloquy he forged 

To work his brother's ruin. Thou dost make 

Thy penitent victim utter to the air 

The dark conspiracy that strikes at life, 

And aims to whelm the laws ; ere yet the hour 

Is come, and the dread sign of murder given. 

Thus, from the first of time, hast thou been found 
On virtue's side ; the wicked, but for thee, 
Had been too strong for the good ; the great of earth 
Had crushed the weak for ever. Schooled in guile 
For ages, while each passing year had brought 
Its baneful lesson, they had filled the world 
With their abominations ; while its tribes, 
Trodden to earth, imbruted, and despoiled, 
Had knelt to them in worship ; sacrifice 
Had smoked on many an altar, temple roofs 
Havl echoed with the blasphemous prayer and hymn 
But thou, the great reformer of the world, 
Tak'st off the sons of violence and fraud 
In their green pupilage, their lore half learned — 
Ere guilt had quite o'errun the simple heart 
God gave them at their birth, and blotted out 
His image. Thou dost mark them flushed with hope, 
As on the threshold of their vast designs 
Doubtful and loose tiiey stand, and strik'st thezn 
down. 



HYMN TO DEATH. 47 

Alas! 1 little thought that the stern power 
iV^hose fearful praise I sung, would try me thus 
Before the strain was ended. It must cease — 
For he is in his grave who taught my youth 
The art of verse, and in the bud of life 
Offered me to the muses. Oh, cut off 
Untimely 1 when thy reason in its strength, 
Ripened by years of toil and studious search. 
And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught 
Thy hand to practise best the lenient art 
To which thou gavest thy laborious days, 
And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the earth 
Received thee, tears were in unyielding eyes 
And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed thy skill 
Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and turned pal« 
When thou wert gone. This faltering verse, which thou 
Shalt not, aS wont, o'erlook, is all I have 
To offer at thy grave — this — and the hope 
To copy thy example, and to leave 
A name of which the wretched shall not think 
As of an enemy's, whom they forgive 
As all forgive the dead. Rest, therefore, thou 
Whose early guidance trained my infant steps — 
Rest, in the bosom of God, tiU the bi-ief sleep 
Of death is over, and a happier life 
Shall dawn to waken thine insensible dust. 

Now thou art not — and yet the men whose guilt 
Has wearied Heaven for vengeance — he who bears 
False witness — he who takes the orphan's bread, 
And robs the widow — ^he who spreads abroad 
Volluted hands in mockery of prayer, 
^re left to cumber earth. Shuddering 1 look 
On what is written, yet I blot not out 
The desultory numbers ; let them stand. 
The record of an idle revery. 



48 PORMH 



THF MASSACRE AT SCIO. 

WtEP not for Scio's children slain ; 

Their blood, by Turkish falchions 8he<f 
Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain 

For vengeance on the murderer's head 

Though high the warm red torrent ran 
Between the flames that lit the sky. 

Yet, for each drop, an armed man 
Shall rise, to free the land, or die. 

And for each corpse, that in the sea 
Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds. 

A hundred of the foe shall be 
A banquet for the mountain birds. 

Stern rites and sad, shall Greece ordaii 
To keep that day, along her shore. 

Till the last link of slavery's chain 
Is shivered, to be worn no more. 



THE INDIAN GIRL'S LAMENT. 

An Indian girl was sitting where 
Her lover, slain in battle, slept ; 

Her maiden veil, her own black hair, 
Came down o'er eyes that wept ; 

And wildly, in her woodland tongue 

This sad and simple lay sh«^ sungr 



THE INDIAN GIEL's LAMENT. 48 

• Tve pulled away the shrubs that, grew 
Too close above thy sleeping head, 
And broke the forest boughs that threw 

Their shadows o'er thy bed, 
That, shining from the sweet southwest, 
The sunbeams might rejoice thy rest 

' It was a weary, weary road 

That led thee to the pleasant coast, 

Where thou, in his serene abode, 
Hast met thy father's ghost ; 

Where everlasting autumn lies ^ 

On yellow woods and sunny skies. 

♦ 'Twas I the broidered mocsen made, 

That shod thee for that distant land 
'Twas I thy bow and arrows laid 

Beside thy still cold hand ; 
Thy bow in many a battle bent, 
Thy arrows never vainly sent 

•* With wampum belts I crossed thy breast, 
And wrapped thee in the bison's hide, 
And laid the food that pleased thee besl,. 

In plenty, by thy side. 
And decked thee bravely, as became 
A warrior of illustrious name. 

* Thou'rt happy now, for thou hast passed 

The long dark journey of the grave, 
And in the land of light, at last. 

Hast joined the good and brave ; 
Amid the flushed and balmy air, 
The bravest and the loveliest there. 

• Yet, oft to thine own Indian maid 

Even there thy thoughts will earthward strays 
To her who sits where thou wert laid, 
And weeps the hours away, 
4 



ftO POEMS. 

Yet almost can her grief forget. 

To think that thou dost love her yel. 

•* And thou, by one of those still lakes 
Tliat in a shining cluster lie, 
On which the south wind scarcely breake 

The image of the sky, 
A bower for thee and me hast made 
Beneath the many-colored shade. 

'* And thou dost wait and watch to meet 

My spirit sent to join the blessed, 

And, wondering what detains my feet 

From the bright land of rest, 
Dost seem, in every sound, to hear 
The rustling of my footsteps near." 



>b£ FOR AN AGRICULTURAL CELEBRATION 

Far back in the ages, 

The plough with wreaths was crowned . 
The hands of kings and sages 

Entwined the chaplet round ; 
Till men of spoil disdained the toil 

By which the world was nourished, 
And dews of blood enriched the soil 

Where green their laurels flourished, 
— Now the world her fault repairs — 

The guilt that stains her story ; 
And weeps her crimes amid the carea 

That formed her earliest glory 



EIZPAH. 51 

rhe ])roud throne shall crumble, 

The diadem shall wan^e, 
The tribes of earth shall humble 

The pride of those who reign ; 
And War shall lay his pomp away ;-- 

Tlie fame that heroes chei-ish, 
The glory earned in deadly fray 

Shall fade, decay, and perish. 
Honor waits, o'er all the Earth, 

Through endless generations, 
The art that calls her harvests forth, 

And feeds the expectant nations. 



RIZPAH. 

And he delivered them inlo the hands of the Gibecmitea, and they hangpeit 
Ihem ui ihe hill before the Lord ; and they fell all seven together, and were pel 
ti death In the days of the harvest, in the first days, in the beginning of barley- 
Imrvo>-l 

And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took 8ackcloi.h, and spread it for her npo» 
the rc<!ii. from the beginning of harvest until the water dropped upon them ou( 
of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest upon them by day, noi 
the beasta of the field by night. 2 Samuel, xxi. 10- 

Hear what the desolate Rizpah said, 
As on Gibeah's rocks she watched the dead. 
The sons of Michal before her lay. 
And her own fair children, dearer than they : 
By a death of shame they all had died, 
And were stretched on the bare rock, side by side 
And Rizpah, once the loveliest of all 
That bloomed and smiled in the coui-t of Said, 
All wasted with watching and famine now, 
And scorched by the sun her haggard brow, 
Sat mournfully guarding their corpses there. 
And murmured a strange and solemn air ; 
The low, heart-broken, and wailing strain 
Of a mother that mourns her children slain' 



52 P0KM8. 

" I have made the crags my home, and spread 
On their desert backs my sackcloth bed , 
I have eaten the bitter herb of the rocks, 
And drunk the midnight dew in my locks ; 
F have wept till I could not weep, and the pain 
Of my burning eyeballs went to my brain. 
Seven blackened corpses befoi-e me lie, 
In the blaze of the sun and the winds of the sky 
I have watched them through the burning day. 
And driven the vulture and raven away ; 
And the cormorant wheeled in circles round, 
Yet feared to alight on the guarded ground. 
And when the shadows of twilight came, 
I have seen the hyena's eyes of flame, 
And heard at my side his stealthy tread. 
But ay<^ at my shout the savage fled : 
And I threw the lighted brand to fright 
The jackal and wolf that yelled in the night. 

" Ye were foully murdered, my hapless sons. 
By the hands of wicked and cruel ones ; 
Ye fell, in your fresh and blooming prime, 
All innocent, for your father's crime. 
He sinned — but he paid the price of his guilt 
When his blood by a nameless hand was spilt ; 
When he strove with the heathen host in vain, 
And fell with the flower of his people slain, 
And the sceptre his children's hands should sway 
From his injured lineage passed away. 

" But I hoped that the cottage roof would be 
A safe retreat for my sons and me ; 
And that while they ripened to manhood fast, 
They should wean my thoughts from the woes of the past 
Ajid my bosom swelled with a mother s pride, 
As they stood in their beauty and strength by my side 
Tall like their sire, with the princely grace 
Of his stately form, and the bloom of his faca 



THB OLD man's FUNEEAL Gb 

*• Oh, what an hour for a mother's heart, 
WThen the pitiless ruffians tore us apart I 
WTien I clasped their knees and wept and prayed 
A.nd struggled and shrieked to Heaven for aid. 
And clung to my sons with desperate strength, 
Till the murderers loosed my hold at length, 
A.nd bore me breathless and faint aside, 
In their iron arms, while my children died. 
They died — and the mother that gave them birth 
[s forbid to cover their bones with earth. 

" The barley-harvest was nodding white, 
When my children died on the rocky height, 
And the reapers were singing on hiU and plam, 
When I came to my task of sorrow and pain 
But now the season of rain is nigh. 
The sun is dim in the thickening sky, 
And the clouds in sullen darkness rest 
Where he hides his light at the doors of the weeu 
[ hear the howl of the wind that brings 
The long drear storm on its heavy wings ; 
But the howling wind and the driving rain 
Will beat on my houseless head in vain : 
[ shall stay, from my murdered sons to scare 
Vhe beasts of the desert, and fowls of air." 



THE OLD MAN'S FUNERAL. 

1 SAW an aged man upon his bier, 

His hair was thin and white, and on his bro-» 
A record of the cares of many a year ; — 

Cares that were ended and forgotten now. 
And there was sadness round, and faces bowed, 
ind woman's tears fell fast, and children wailf,d alou d 



54 POEMS. 

Then rose another hoary man and said, 

la faltering accents, to that weeping train, 
' Why mourn ye that our aged friend is dead Ir 
Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain, 
Nor when their mellow fruit the orchards cast, 
Nor when the yellow woods let fall the ripcjied 
mast 

" Ye sigh not when the sun, his course fulfilled, 
His glorious course, rejoicing earth and sky, 
in the soft evening, when the winds are stilled, 

Sinks where his islands of refi-eshment He, 
A.nd leaves the smile of his departure, spread 
O'er the warjo-<;olored heaven and ruddy mountaiu 
head- 

" Why weop ye then for him, who, having won 
Tlie bound of man's appointed years, at last, 
Life's bless"rgs all enjoyed, life's labors done, 

Sereutti^' to his final rest has passed ; 
While tlio soft memory of his virtues, yet, 
Lingt-ri like twilight hues, when the bright sun \t 
set? 

* llib youth was innocent ; his riper age 

M.irked with some act of goodness every day ; 
And watched by eyes tliat loved him, calm, and sago. 

Faded his late declining years away. 
Cheerful he gave his being up, and went 
To share the holy rest that waits a life weU ppent 

• That life was happy ; every day he gave 

Thanks for the fair existence that was his ; 
For a sick fancy made him not her slave. 

To mock him with her phantom miseries. 
No chi'onic tortures racked his aged limb. 
For luxury and sloth had noui-iiuie<l none ibr hiiA 



THE KIVULET. 5ft 

Aud 1 am glad that he has lived thus long, 
And glad that he has gone to his reward ; 

Nor can I deem that nature did him wrong, 
Softly to disengage the vital cord. 

Foi- when his hand grew palsied, and his eye 

Dark with the mists of age, it was his time to dia 



THE RIVULET. 

'Tms little rill, that from the springs 
Of yonder grove its current brings, 
Plays on the slope awhile, and then 
Goes prattling into groves again, 
Oft to its warbling waters drew 
My little feet, when life was new. 
When woods m early green were dressed, 
And from the chambers of the west 
The warmer breezes, travelling out, 
Breathed the new scent of flowers about, 
My truant steps from home would stray, 
Upon its grassy side to play. 
List the brown thrasher's vernal hymn, 
And crop the violet on its brim, 
With blooming cheek and open brow, 
As young and gay, sweet rill, as thou. 

And when the days of boyhood came 
And I had grown in love with fame. 
Duly I sought thy banks, and tried 
My first rude numbers by thy side. 
Words cannot tell how bright and gay 
The scenes of life before me lay. 



56 POEMS 

Then glorious ht pes, that now to speak 
Would bring the blood into my cheek, 
Passed o'er me ; and I wrote, on high, 
A name I deemed should never die. 

Years change thee not. Upon yon hiJi 
The tall old maples, verdant stiU, 
Yet tell, in grandeur of decay, 
How swift the years have passed away, 
Since first, a child, and half afraid. 
1 wandered in the forest shade 
Thou, ever joyous rivulet. 
Dost dimple, leap, and prattle yet ; 
And sporting with the sands that pave 
The windings of thy silver wave, 
And dancing to thy own wild chime. 
Thou laughest at the lapse of time. 
The same sweet soimds are in my ear 
My early childhood loved to hear; 
As pure thy limpid waters run ; 
As bright they sparkle to the sun ; 
As fresh and thick the bending ranks 
Of herbs that line thy oozy banks ; 
The violet there, in soft May dew, 
Comes up, as modest and as blue ; 
As green amid thy current's stress, 
Floats the scarce-rooted watercress : 
And the brown ground-bird, in thy glen, 
Still chirps as merrily as then. 

Thou changest not — ^but I am changed 
Since first, thy pleasant banks I ranged ; 
And the grave stranger, come to see 
The play-place of his infancy. 
Has scarce a single trace of him 
Who sported once upon thy brim. 
The visions of my youth are past — 
Too bright too beautiful to last. 



THE BIVULET. 67 

Fve tried the world — it wears no more 
The coloring of romance it wore. 
Yet well has IS'ature kept the truth 
She promised in my earliest youth. 
The radiant beauty shed abroad 
On all the glorious works of God, 
Shows freshly, to my sobered eye, 
Each charm it wore in days gone by. 

A few brief years shall pass away, 
And I, all trembling, weak, and gray. 
Bowed to the earth, which waits to fold 
My ashes in the embracing mould, 
(K haply the dark wiU of fate 
Indulge my life so long a date), 
May come for the last time to look 
Upon my childhood's favorite brook. 
ITien dimly on my eye shall gleam 
The sparkle of thy dancing stream ; 
And faintly on my ear shall fall 
Thy prattling current's merry call ; 
Yet shalt thou flow as glad and bright 
As when thou met'st my infant sight. 

And I shall sleep — and on thy side. 
As ages after ages glide. 
Children their early sports shall try, 
And pass to hoary age and die. 
But thou, unchanged from year to yeai 
Gayly shalt play and glitter here ; 
Amid young flowers and tender grass 
Thy endless infancy shalt pass ; 
And, singing down thy narrow glen, 
Bhalt mock the fading race of men. 



58 POBM8. 



MARCH 

The storing March is come at last 

With wind, and cloud, and changing akie« 

I hear the rushing of the blast, 

That through the snowy valley flies. 

Ah, passing few are they who speak. 
Wild stormy month I in praise of thee ; 

Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak. 
Thou art a welcome month to me. 

For thou, to northern lands, again 
The glad and glorious sun dost bring, 

And thou hast joined the gentle train 
And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. 

And, in thy reign of blast and storm, 
Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, 

When the changed winds are soft and warm 
And heaven puts on the blue of May. 

Then smg aloud the gushing rills 

In joy that they again are free. 
And, brightly leaping down the hilb^ 

Begin their journey to the sea. 

rhe year's dep arting beauty hides 
Of wintry storms the sullen threat, 

But in thy sternest frown abides 
A look of kindly promise vet 



A.N ESTDIAN STOEY. 59 

Thou briiig'st the hope of those calm skies, 
And that soft time of suuny showers, 

Wlien the wide bloom, ou earth that lies, 
Seems of a brighter world than ours. 



CONSUMPTION. 

A.y, thou art for the grave; thy glances shine 

Too brightly to shine long ; another Spring 
Shall deck her for men's eyes, — but not for thine— 

Sealed in a sleep which knows no wakening. 
The fields for thee have no medicinal leaf, 

And the vexed ore no mineral of power; 
ind they who love thee wait in anxious grief 

Till the slow plague shall bring the fatal hour. 
Ulide softly to thy rest then ; Death should come 

Gently, to one of gentle mould like thee, 
As light winds wandering through groves of blc-om 

Detach the delicate blossom from the tree. 
Close thy sweet eyes, calmly, and without pain ; 
And we will trust in God to see thee yet again. 



AN INDIAN STORY. 

I KNOW where the timid fawn abides 

In the depths of the shaded deU, 
Where the leaves are broad and the thicket hideti 
With its many stems and its tangled sides, 

From the eye of the hunter welL 



60 POEMS. 

" I know where the young May violet grows. 

In its loue and lowly nook, 
On the mossy bank, where the larch -tree throws 
Its broad dark boughs, in solemn repose. 

Far over the silent brook. 



And that timid fawn starts not with fear 

When I steal to her secret bower; 
And that young May violet to me is dear. 
And I visit the silent streamlet near, 

To look on the lovely flower." 

Thus Maquon sings as he lightly walks 
To the hunting-ground on the hills ; 
'Tis a scng of his maid of the woods and rocks, 
With her bright black eyes and long black locka. 
And voice like the music of rills. 



He goes to the chase — ^but evil eyes 

Are at watch in the thicker sh^'des ; 
For she was lovely that smiled on his sighs, 
And he bore, from a hundred lovers, his prize. 
The flower of the forest maids. 



The boughs in the morning wind are stirred, 

And the woods their song renew. 
With the early carol of many a bird, 
And the quickened tune of the streamlet heard 
Where the hazels trickle with dew. 



And Maquon has promised his dark-haired maid. 

Ere eve shall redden the sky, 
A good red deer from the forest shade, 
rhat bounds with the herd through grove and glade 

At her cabin-door shall lie 



AJJ INDIAN STOET. 61 

The hollow woods, in the setting sun, 

Ring shrill with the fire-bird's lay ; 
And Maquon's sylvan labors are done, 
And his shafts are spent, but the spoil they won 

He bears on his homeward way. 

He stops near his bower — his eye perceives 

Strange traces along the ground — 
At once to the earth his burden he heaves, 
He breaks through the veil of boughs and leaves, 

And gains its door with a bound. 

But the vines are torn on its walls that leant. 

And all from the young shrubs there 
By struggling hands have the leaves been rent. 
And there hangs on the sassafras, broken and bent 
One tress of the well-known hair. 



But where is she who, at this cahn hour, 
Ever watched his coming to see ? 

She is not at the door, nor yet in the bower; 

He calls — but he only hears on the flower 
The hum of the laden bee. 

i is not a time for idle grief. 

Nor a time for tears to flow ; 
The horror that freezes his limbs is brief — 
He grasps his war-axe and bow, and a sheaf 

Of darts made sharp for the foe. 

And he looks for the print of the I'uffian's feet 

Where he bore the maiden away ; 
And he darts on the fatal path more fleet 
Than the blast hurries the vapor and sleet 
O'er the wild November day. 



62 POEMS. 

Twas early summer when Maquon s bride 

Was stolen away from his door ; 
But at length the maples in crimson are dyed. 
And the grape is black on the cabin side, — 

And she smiles at his hearth once more. 

But far in the pine-grove, dark and cold. 

Where the yellow leaf falls not, 
Nor the autumn shines in scarlet and gold, 
There lies a hillock of fresh dark mould, 

In the deepest gloom of the spot 

And the Indian girls, that pass that way, 

Point out the ravisher's grave ; 
" And how soon to the bower she loved," they say 
" Returned the maid that was borne away 

From Maquon, the fond and the brave.** 



SUMMER WIND. 

It is a sultry day ; the sun has drunk 
The dew that lay upon the morning grass ; 
There is no rustling in the lofty ebn 
That canopies my dwelling, and its shade 
Scarce cools me. All is sUent, save the faint 
And interrupted murmur of the bee. 
Settling on the sick flowers, and then again 
Instantly on the wing. The plants around 
Feel the too potent fervors : the tall maize 
Rolls up its long green leaves ; the clover droops 
Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms. 
But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills. 



STJMMBB WIND. 8i 

With all their growth of woods, silent and stern, 
As if the scorching heat and dazzling light 
Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds, 
Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven, — 
Their bases on the mountains — their white tops 
Shining in the far ether — fire the air 
With a reflected radiance, and make turn 
The gazer's eye away. For me, I lie 
Laiiguidly in the shade, where the thick turf, 
Yet virgin from the kisses of the sun, 
Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind 
That still delays his coming. Why so slow, 
Gentle and voluble spirit of the air ? 
Oh, come and breathe upon the fainting earth 
Coolness and life. Is it that in his caves 
He hears me ? See, on yonder woody ridge, 
The pine is bending his proud top, and now 
Among the nearer groves, chestnut and oak 
Are tossing their green boughs about. He con aa 
Lo, where the grassy meadow runs in waves I 
The deep distressful silence of the scene 
Breaks up with mingling of unnumbered sounds 
And universal motion. He is come, 
Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs. 
And bearing on their fragrance ; and he brings 
Music of birds, and rustling of young boughs. 
And sound of swaying branches, and the voice 
Of distant waterfalls. All the green herbs 
Are stirring in his breath ; a thousand flowers, 
By the road-side and the borders of the brook. 
Nod gayly to each other ; glossy leaves 
Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew 
Were on them yet, and silver waters break 
Into small waves and sparkle as he comes. 



64 POEMS. 



4N INDIAN AT THE BURIAL-PLACE OF BI8 
FATHERS, 

It is the spot I came to seek, — 
My fathers' ancient burial-place 

Ere from these vales, asliamed and weak. 
Withdrew our wasted race. 

It is the spot — I know it well — 

Of which our old traditions telL 

For here the upland bank sends out 

A ridge toward the river-side; 
I know the shaggy hills about, 

The meadows smooth and wide, 
The plains, that, toward the southern sky 
Fenced east and west by mountains lie. 

A white man, gazing on the scene, 
Would say a lovely spot was here, 

And praise the lawTis, so fresh and green 
Between the hills so sheer. 

I like it not — I would the plain 

Lay in its tall old groves again. 

The shee,p are on the slopes around, 
The cattle in the meadows feed, 

And laborers turn the crumbling ground, 
Or drop the yellow seed. 

And prancing steeds, in trappings gay, 

Whirl the bright chariot o'er the way 



AN INDIAN AT TUE BUEIAL-PLA03L 65 

Methinks it were a nobler sight 

To see these vales in woods arrayed 

Their summits in the golden light, 
Their trunks in grateful shade, 

And herds of deer, that bounding go 

O'er hills and prostrate trees below. 

And then to mark the lord of all. 
The forest hero, trained to wars. 

Quivered and plumed, and lithe and tall. 
And seamed with glorious scars, 

Walk forth, amid his reign, to dare 

The wolf, and grapple with the bear. 

This bank, in which the dead were laid, 
"Was sacred when its soil was ours ; 

Hither the silent Indian maid 

Brought wreaths of beads and flowers. 

And the gray chief and gifted seer 

Worshipped the god of thunders here. 

But now the wheat is green and high 
On clods that hid the warrior's breast. 

And scattered in the furrows lie 
The weapons of his rest ; 

And there, in the loose sand, is thrown 

Of his large arm the mouldering bone. 

Ah, little thought the strong and brave 
Who bore their lifeless chieftain forth- 

Or the young wife that weeping gave 
Her first-born to the earth, 

That the pale race, who waste us now, 

Among their bones should guide the plougL 

They waste us— ay — like April snow 
In the warm noon, we shrink away: 

And fast they follow, as we go 
Towards the setting day. — 
5 



POEMS. 

Till tliey shall fill the land, and we 
Are driven into the western sea. 

But I behold a feaKful sign, 

To which the white men's eyes are blind 
Their race may vanish hence, like mine, 

And leave no trace behind. 
Save ruins o'er the region spread. 
And the white stones above the dead. 

Before these fields were shorn and tilled. 
Full to the brim our rivers flowed ; 

The melody of waters filled 

The fresh and boundless wood ; 

And torrents dashed and rivulets played, 

And fountains spouted in the shade. 

Those grateful sounds are heard no more 
The springs are silent in the sun ; 

The rivers, by the blackened shore, 
With lessening current run ; 

The realm our tribes are crushed to get 

May be a barren desert yet. 



SONG. 

Dost thou idly ask to hear 

At what gentle seasons 
Nymphs relent, when lovers near 

Press the tenderest reasons? 
Ah, they give their faith too oft 

To the careless wooer ; 
Maidens' hearts are always soft .• 

Would that men's were truer 



SONft. 67 

Woo the fair one, when around 

Early birds are singing ; 
When, o'er all the fragrant groui d, 

Early herbs are springing : 
When the brookside, bank, and grove, 

All \vith blossoms laden, 
Shine with beauty, breathe of love,— 

Woo the timid maiden. 

Woo her when, with rosy blush. 

Summer eve is sinking ; 
When, on rills that softly gush, 

Stars are softly winking ; 
When, through boughs that knit the bower. 

Moonlight gleams are stealing ; 
Woo her, till the gentle hour 

Wake a gentler feeling. 

Woo her, when autumnal dyes 

Tinge the woody mountain ; 
When the dropping foliage Ues 

In the weedy fountain ; 
Let the scene, that tells how fast 

Youth is passing over, 
Warn her, ere her bloom is past^ 

To secure her lover. 

Woo her, when the north winds call 

At the lattice nightly ; 
When, within the cheerfal hall, 

Blaze the fagots brightly ; 
While the wintry tempest round 

Sweeps the landscape hoary. 
Sweeter in her ear shall sound 

Love's delightful story. 



63 POEMS. 



HYMN OF THE WALDEXSEa 

Hear, Father, heiir thy faint afflicted flock 
Cry to thee, from the desert and the rock ; 
While those, who seek to shiy thy children, hold 
Blasphemous worship under roofs of gold ; 
And the broad goodly lands, with pleasant airs 
That nurse the grape and wave the grain, are theins 

Yet better were this mountain wilderness. 
And this wild life of danger and distress — 
Watchings by night and perilous flight by day. 
And meetings in the depths of earth to pray. 
Better, far better; than to kneel with them, 
And pay the impious rite thy laws condemn. 

Thou, Lord, dost hold the thunder ; the firm land 

Tosses in biUows when it feels thy hand ; 
Thou dashest nation against nation, then 
Stillest the angry world to peace again. 
Oh, touch their stony hearts who hunt thy sons — 
The murderers of our wives and little ones. 

Yet, mighty God, yet shall thy frown look forth 
Unveiled, and terribly shall shake the earth. 
Then the foul power of priestly sin and all 
Its long-upheld idolatries shall fall. 
Thou shalt raise up the trampled and oppresseo 
\.nd thy delivered saints shall dwell in rest 



MONTTMitNT MOUNTAIN 69 



MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. 

Phou who woiildst see the lovely and the wild 
Mingled in harmony on Nature's face, 
Ascend our rocky mountains. Let thy foot 
Fail not with weariness, for on their tops 
The beauty and the majesty of earth, 
Spread wide beneath, shall make thee to forget 
The steep and toilsome way. There, as thou stan<rsl 
The haunts of men below thee, and around 
The mountain sunmiits, thy expanding heart 
Shall feel a kindred with that loftier world 
To which thou art translated, and partake 
The enlargement of thy vision. Thou shalt look 
Upon the green and rolling forest tops, 
And down into the secrets of the glens, 
And streams, that with their bordering thickets strive 
To hide thi^ir windings. Thou shalt gaze, at once, 
Here on wliite villages, and tilth, and herds. 
And swarrjiing roads, and there on solitudes 
That only hear the torrent, and the wind, 
And eagle's shriek. There is a precipice 
That seems a fragment of some mighty wall. 
Built by the hand that fashioned the old world, 
To separate its nations, and thrown down 
When the flood drowned them. To the north, a patfe 
Conducts you up the narrow battlement. 
Steep is the western side, shaggy and wild 
With mossy trees, and pinnacles of flint. 
And many a hanging crag. But, to the east, 
Sheer to the vale go down the bare old cliffs, — 
Huge pillars, that in middle heaven upbear 
Their weather-beaten canitals. here dark 



70 poKMa. 

With moss the growth of centuries, and there 

Of chalky whiteness where the thunderbolt 

Has splintered them. It is a fearful thing 

To stand upon the beetling verge, and see 

Where storm and lightning, from that huge gray wtJl 

Have tumbled down vast blocks, and at the base 

Dashed them in fragments, and to lay thine ear 

Over the dizzy depth, and hear the sound 

Of winds, that struggle with the woods below, 

Come up like ocean murmurs. But the scene 

Is lovely round ; a beautiful river there 

Wanders amid the fresh and fertile meads, 

The paradise he made unto himself, 

Mining the soil for ages. On each side 

The fields swell upward to the hills ; beyond, 

Above the hills, in the blue distance, rise 

The mountain columns with which earth props heaven 

There is a tale about these reverend rocks, 
A sad tradition of unhappy love, 
And sorrows borne and ended, long ago. 
When over these fair vales the savage sought 
Hie game in the thick woods. There was a maid. 
The fairest of the Indian maids, bright-eyed, 
With wealth of raven tresses, a light form, 
And a gay heart. About her cabin-door 
The wide old woods resounded with her song 
And fairy laughter all the summer day. 
She loved her cousin ; such a love was deemed, 
By the morality of those stern tribes, 
[ncestuous, and she struggled hard and long 
Against her love, and reasoned with her heart, 
As simple Indian maiden might. In vain. 
Then her eye lost its lustre, and her step 
Its lightness, and the gray-haired men that passed 
Her dwelling, wondered that they heard no more 
The accustomed song and laugh of her, whose looks 
Were like the cheerful smile of Spring, ihey said. 



MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. 7 J 

Dpon the Winter of their age. She went 
To weep where no eye saw, and was not found 
When all the merry girls were met to dance, 
And all the hunters of the tribe were out ; 
Nop when they gathered fi'om the rustling husk 
The shining ear ; nor when, by the river's side, 
They pulled the grape and startled the wild shades 
With sounds of mirth. The keen-eyed Indian damefe 
Would whisper to each other, as they saw 
Her wasting form, and say the girl will die. 

One day into the bosom of a friend, 
A playmate of her young and innocent years, 
She poured her griefs. " Thou knoVst, and thou alon t 
She said, " for I have told thee all my love. 
And guilt, and sorrow. I am sick of life. 
All night I weep in darkness, and the morn 
Glares on me, as upon a thing accursed. 
That has no business on the earth. I hate 
The pastimes and the pleasant toils that once 
I loved ; the cheerful voices of my friends 
Sound in my ear like mockings, and, at night, 
In dreams, my mother, from the land of souls, 
Calls me and chides me. All that look on me 
Do seem to know my shame ; I cannot bear 
Their eyes ; I cannot from my heart root ou 
The love that wrings it so, and I must die." 

It was a summer morning, and they went 
To this old precipice. About the cliffs 
Lay garlands, ears of maize, and shaggy skins 
Of wolf and bear, the offerings of the tribe 
Here made to the Great Spirit, for they deemed 
Like worshippers of the elder time, that God 
Doth walk on the high places and affect 
The earth-o'erlooking mountains. She had on 
The ornaments with which her father loved 
To deck the beauty of his bright-eyed girl. 



72 POEMSk 

And bade her wear when stranger warriors came 

To be his guests. Here the friends sat them dowu, 

And sang, all day, old songs of love and death, 

And decked the poor wan victim's hair with flowers 

And prayed that safe and swift might be her way 

To the calm world of sunshine, where no grief 

Makes the heart heavy and the eyelids red. 

Beautiful lay the region of her tribe 

Below her — waters resting in the embiace 

Of the wide forest, and maize-j )lanted glades 

Opening amid the leafy wilderness. 

She gazed upon it long, and at the sight 

Of her own village peeping through the trees. 

And her own dwelling, and the cabin roof 

Of him she loved with an unlawful love, 

And came to die for, a warm gush of tears 

Ran from her eyes. But when the sun grew low 

Aud the hill shadows long, she threw herself 

From the steep rock and perished. There was scooperl 

Upon the mountain's southern slope, a grave ; 

And there they laid her, in the very garb 

With which the maiden decked herself for death. 

With the same withering wdd flowers in her hair 

And o'er the mould that covered her, the tribe 

Built up a simple monument, a cone 

Of small loose stones. Thenceforward all who passed 

Hunter, and dame, and virgin, laid a stone 

In silence on the pile. It stands there yet. 

And Indians from the distant West, who come 

To visit where their fathers' bones are laid, 

Y'et tell the sorrowful tale, and to this day 

rhe mountain where the hapless maiden died 

fa called the Motintain of the Monument 



&FTEB A TEMPEST. 78 



AFTER A TEMPEST. 

TnB day had been a day of wind and storni , 
The wind was laid, the storm was overpast, 
And stooping from the zenith bright and warm 
Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last. 
1 stood upon the upland slope, and cast 
Mine eye upon a broad and beauteous scene, 
Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast, 
And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green, 
With pleasant vales scooped out and villages between 

The ruin-Jrops glistened on the trees around, 
Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirred, 
Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground, 
Was shaken by the flight of startled bird ; 
For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard 
About the flowers; the cheerful rivulet sung 
And gossiped, as he hastened ocean- ward ; 
To the gray oak the squirrel, chiding, clung, 
Ind chirping from the ground the grasshopper up 
sprung. 

And from beneath the leaves that kept them dry 
Flew many a glittering insect here and there, 
And darted up and down the butterfly, 
That seemed a living blossom of the air 
The flocks came scattering from the thicket, wher« 
The violent rain had pent them ; in the way 
Strolled groups of damsels frolicksome and fair ; 
The farmer swung the scythe or turned the hay, 
ind 'twixt the heavy swaths his children were at 
play. 



74 POEMS. 

It was a scene of peace — and, like a spell, 
Did that serene and golden sunliglit fall 
Upon the motionless wood that clothed the fell. 
And precipice upspriuging like a wall, 
And ^assy river and white waterfall, 
And happy living things that trod the bright 
And beauteous scene ; while far beyond them all, 
On many a lovely valley, out of sight. 
Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft gold 
en light 

I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene 
An emblem of the peace that yet shall be. 
When o'er earth's continents, and isles between. 
The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea, 
And married nations dwell in harmony; 
When millions, crouching in the dust to one. 
No more shall beg their lives on bended knee. 
Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun 
rhe o'erlabored captive toil, and wish his life wera 
done. 

Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers 
And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast, 
The fair earth, that should only blush with flower's 
And ruddy fruits ; but not for aye can last 
The storm, and sweet the sunshiae when 'tis past. 
Lo, the clouds roll away — they break — they fly, 
And, like the glorious light of summer, cast 
O'er the wide landscape from the embracing sky, 
On all the peaceful world the smile of heaven snali 
lie. 



AUTUMN WOODS. 76 



AUTUMN WOODS 

Ere, in the northern gale, 
rh© summer tresses of the trees are gone, 
The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, 

Have put their glory on. 

The mountains that infold, 
In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round, 
Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold, 

That guard the enchanted ground 

I roam the woods that crown 
The upland, where the mingled splendors glow, 
Where the gay company of trees look down 

On the green fields below. 

My steps are not alone 
In these bright walks ; the sweet south-west, at plaj 
Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strewn 

Along the winding way. 

And far in heaven, tl;e whOe, 
rhe sun, that sends that gale to wander here. 
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile, — 

The sweetest of the year. 

Where now the solemn shade, 
Verdure and gloom where many branches meet ; 
So grateful, when the noon of summer made 

The valleys sick with heat If 



76 POEMfc. 

Let in through all the trees 
Come the strange rays ; the forest depths are bright 
rheir sunny-colored foliage, in the breeze, 

Twinkles, like beams of light. 

The rivulet, late unseen, 
Wliere bickering through the shrubs its waters run 
•chines with the image of its golden screen 

And glimmerings of the sun. 

But 'neath yon crimson tree, 
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame. 
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, 

Her blush of maidei^i shame. 

Oh, Autumn 1 why so soon 
Depart the hues that make thy forests glad, 
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon, 

And leave thee wild and sad 1 

Ah 1 'twere a lot too blest 
For ev^er in thy colored shades to stray; 
Amid the kisses of the soft south-west 

To rove and dream for aye ; 

And leave the vain low strife 
That makes men mad — the tug for wealth and powei 
The passions and the cares that wither life. 

And waste its little hoiu* 



KOVBMBBB. Tl 



MUTATION. 

Tmbt taik of short-lived pleasure — ^be it so — 

Paia dibS tis quickly: stern, hard-featured pain 
Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go. 

The fiercest agonies have shortest reign ; 

And after dreams of horror, comes again 
The welcome morning with its rays of peace. 

Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain, 
Makes the strong seciet pangs of shame to cease: 
Remorse is virtue's root ; its fair increase 

Are fruits of innocence and blessedness : 
Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still release 

His young limbs from the chains that round him presa 
Weep not that the world changes— did it keep 
A. stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep 



NOVEMBER. 



Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun! 

One mellow smile through the soft vapory air, 
Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run. 

Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare. 
One smile on the brown hiUs and naked trees, 

And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are casi 
A.nd the blue gentian flower, that, in the breeze. 

Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last 



78 P0EM8. 

Yei a few sunny days, in which the bee 
Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way, 

The cricket chirp upon the russet lea, 
And man delight to linger in thy ray. 

5f et one rich smile, and we will try to bear 

The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened ai', 



SONG OF THE GREEK AMAZON 

I BUCKLE to my slender side 

The pistol and the scimitar, 
And in my maiden flower and pride 

Am come to share the tasks of war. 
And yonder stands my fiery steed, 

That paws the ground and neighs to go 
My charger of the Arab breed, — 

I took him from the routed foe. 

My mirror is the mountain spring, 

At which I dress my ruffled hair ; 
My dimmed and dusty arms I bring, 

And warfi away the blood-stain there, 
Why should I gnard from wind and sun 

This cheek, whose virgin rose is fled i 
It was for one — oh, oidy one — 

I kept its bloom, and he is dead. 

But they who slew him — ^unaware 
Of coward murderers lurking nigh— 

And left hira to the fowls of air, 
Are yet alive — and they must die. 



TO A OLCTTD. 7fi 

They slew him — and my virgin years 
Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now 

And many an Othman dame, m tears, 
Shall rue the Grecian maiden's vqw. 

I touched the lute in better days, 

I led in dance the joyous band ; 
All they may move to mirthful lays 

Wbose hands can touch a lover's hand 
The march of hosts that haste to meet 

Seems gayer than the dance to me ; 
The lute's sweet tones are not so sweet 

As tlie fierce shout of victory. 



- «^ * 



TO A CLOUD. 

Beautiful cloud! with folds so soft ana fair, 

Swimming in the pure quiet air 1 
Thy fleeces bathed in sunlight, while below 

Thy shadow o'er the vale moves slow ; 
Where, midst their labor, pause the reaper train. 

As cool it comes along the grain. 
Beautiful cloud 1 1 would I were with thee 

In thy calm way o'er land and sea : 
To rest on thy unrolling skirts, and look 

On Earth as on an open book ; 
On streams that tie her realms with silver bands 

And the long ways that seam her lands ; 
And hear her humming cities, and the sound 

Of the great ocean breaking round. 
Ay — I would sail, upon thy air-borne car. 

To blooming regions distant fur. 



80 POEMS. 

To where the sun of Andahisia shineei 

On his own olive-groves and vines. 
Or the soft lights of Italy's clear sky 

In smiles upon her ruins lie. 
IJut I would woo the winds to let us rest 

O'er Greece long fettered and oppressed; 
Whose sons at length have heard the call that oonws 

From the old battle-fields and tombs, 
And risen, and drawn the sword, and on the foe 

Have dealt the swift and desperate blow, 
And the Othman power is cloven, and the stroke 

Has touched its chains, and they are broke. 
Ay, we would linger, till the sunset there 

Should come, to purple all the air. 
And thou reflect upon the sacred groujid 

The ruddy radiance streaming round. 

Bright meteor ! for the sximmer noontide made I 

Thy peerless beauty yet shall fade. 
The sun, that fills with light each glistening fold. 

Shall set, and leave thee daik and cold : 
The blast shall rend thy skirts, oi' thoii may'st frown 

In the dark heaven when storms come down ; 
l^nd weep in rain, tiU man's inquiring eye 

Miss thee, for ever, from the sky. 



THE MURDERED TRAVELLER. 

When spring, to woods and wastes around, 

Brought bloom and joy again, 
The murdered traveller's bones were foun<L 

Far down a narrow glen. 



THE mxjudeeed travellee. 8J 

The ffsgi'ant birch, above him, hung 

Her tassels in the sky ; 
And many a vernal blossom sprung, 

And nodded careless by. 

The red-bird warbled, as he wrought 

His hanging nest o'erhead. 
And fearless, near the fatal spot, 

Her young the partridge led. 

But there was weeping far away, 

And gentle eyes, for him, 
"With watching many an anxious day, 

Were sorrowful and dim. 

They little knew, who loved him so, 

The fearful death he met. 
When shouting o'er the desei't snow, 

Unarmed, and hard beset ; — 

Nor how, when round the frosty pole 

The northern dawn was red. 
The mountain wolf and wild-cat stole 

To banquet on the dead ; — 

Nor how, when strangers found his bones, 

They dressed the hasty bier, 
And marked his grave with nameless stones, 

Unmoistened by a tear. 

But long they looked, and feared, and wept, 

Within his distant home ; 
And dreamed, and started as they slept, 

For joy that he was come. 

Long, long they looked — ^but never spied 

His welcome step again, 
Nor knew the fearful death he died 

Far down that narrow glen. 



82 P0E3fiB. 



HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR. 

The sad and solemn night 
Hath yet her multitude of cheerful lires ; 

The glorious host of light 
Walli the dark hemisphere till she retires ; 
A-U through her silent watches, gliding slow, 
Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and gt 

Day, too, hath many a star 
To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they : 

Through the blue fields afar, 
Unseen, they follow in his flaming way : 
Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim, 
Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him. 

And thou dost see them rise, 
Star of the Pole I and thou dost see them set. 

Alone, in thy cold skies, 
jfhou keep'st thy old unmoving station yet. 
Nor join'st the dances of that glittering train. 
Nor dipp'st thy virgin orb in the blue western main 

There, at morn's rosy birth, 
ITiou lookest meekly through the kindling air, 

And eve, that round the earth 
Chases the day, beholds thee watching thei e ; 
There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls 
The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's aznre walb 

Alike, beneath thine eye, 
Tlie deeds of darkness and of light are done ; 

High towards tlie star-lit sky 
Towns blaxo, iJie smoke of battle blots the sun 



THE LAPSE OF TIME. 83 

T3ie niglit-storm on a thousand hills is lond, 

And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud 

On thy unaltering blaze 
The half- wrecked mariner, his compass lost, 

Fixes his steady gaze, 
And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast ; 
And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night, 
Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their foot 
steps right 

And, therefore, bards of old, 
Sages and hermits of the solemn wood, 

Did in thy beams behold 
A beauteous type of that unchanging good, 
That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray 
The voyager of time should shape his heedful way 



THE LAPSE OF TIME. 

Lament who wiU,, in fruitless tears, 

The speed with which our moment^s fly 

I sigh not over vanished years. 

But watch the years that hast^'^n by. 

Look, how they come, — a mingled crowd 
Of bright and dark, but rapid days , 

Beneath them, like a summer cloud, 
The wide world changes as I gaze. 

Wbat 1 grieve that time has brought so soon 

The sober age of manhood on 1 
As idly might I weep, at noon, 

To see the blush of morning gone. 



84 P0EM8. 

Could I give up the hopes that gK,\» 

In prospect like Elysian isles ; 
And let the cheerful future go, 

With all her promises and smiles i 

The future I — cruel were the power 

Whose doom would tear thee from my heari 

Thou sweetener of the present hour I 
W*» cannot — no — we wiU not part. 

Oh, leave me, stiU, the rapid flight 
That makes the changing seasons gay, 

The grateful speed that brings the night. 
The swift and glad return of day ; 

The months that touch, with added grace, 

This little prattler at my knee, 
In whose arch eye and speaking face 

New meaning every hour I see ; 

The years, that o'er each sister land 
Shall lift the country of my birth. 

And nurse her strength, till she shall stand 
The pride and pattern of the earth : 

Till younger commonwealths, for aid, 
Shall cling about her ample robe. 

And from her frown shall shrink afraid 
The crowned oppressors of the globe. 

True— time will seam and blanch my brovir— 
Well — I shall sit with aged men. 

And my good giass will tell me how 
A grizzly beard becomes me then. 



SONG OF TUE 8TAK8. 36 

And then, should no dishonor lie 

Upon my head, when I am gray, 
Love yet shall watch my fading eye, 

And smooth the path of my decay. 

Then haste thee, Time — 'tis kindness all 
That speeds thy winged feet so fast : 

Thy pleasures stay not till they pall. 
And all thy pains are quickly past. 

ihou fliest and bear'st away our woes^ 

And as thy shadowy train depart. 
The memory of sorrow grows 

A lighter burden on the heart. 



SONG OF THE STARS. 

When the radiant morn of creation broke, 
And the world in the smile of God awoke, 
And the empty realms of darkness and death 
Were moved through their depths by his mightj 

breath, 
And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame 
From the void abyss by myriads came, — 
In the joy of youth as they darted away. 
Through the widening wastes of space to play, 
Their silver voices in chorus rang. 
And this was the song the bright ones sang ; 

'Away, away, through the wide, wide sky, 
The fair blue fields that before us lie, — 
Each sTin with the worlds that round him roll, 
Each planet, poised on her turning pole ; 



86 POEMS. 

With her isL^s of green, and her clouds of white, 
And her waters that lie like fluid light. 

' For the source of glory uncovers his face, 
A-nd the brightness o'erfl.iws unbounded space 
A.nd we drink as we go the luminous tides 
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides : 
TiO, yonder the living splendors play ; 
A.way, on our joyous path, away 1 

' Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar, 
In the infinite azure, star after star, 
How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly paesl 
How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass I 
And the path of the gentle winds is seen, 
Where the small waves dance, and the j^oung woodi 
lean. 

• And see "where the brighter day-beams pour, 
How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower; 
And the morn and eve, with their pouip of hues, 
Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews; 
And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground, 
With her shadowy cone the night goes round 1 

* Away, away 1 in our blossoming bowers. 

In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours, 
In the seas and fountains that shine with morn, 
See, Love is brooding, and Life is born, 
And breathing myriads are breaking from night, 
To rejoice, like us, in motion and light 

Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres, 

To weave the dance that measui-es the years; 

Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent. 

To the furthest wall of the firmament, — 

The boundless visible smile of Him, 

To the veil oi whose brow youi' lamps are dim." 



A FOREST HYMN. 87 



A FOREST HYMN. 

Thj: groves were God's first temples. Ere man learner* 
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 
And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed 
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back 
The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, 
Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, 
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
And supplication. For his simple heart 
Might not resist the sacred influences 
Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, 
And from the gray old trunks that high in heaver 
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound 
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 
All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed 
His spirit with the thought of boundless power 
And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why 
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect 
God's ancient sanctuaries, and a^dore 
Only among the crowd, and under roofs 
That our frail hands have raised ? Let me, at least, 
Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, 
Ofi"er one hymn — thrice happy, if it find 
Acceptance in His ear. 

Father, thy hand 
Hath reared these venerable columns, thou 
Didst weave this verdant root Thou didst look down 
Upon the naked eartli, and, forthwith, rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, 
Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, 
And shot towards heaven. The century-living cro\r 
W'hose birth was in their t<)[)s, grew old and died 



8? POEMS. 

A.iuong their branches, till, at last, they stood, 

A.8 now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark. 

Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold 

Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, 

These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride 

Report not. No fantastic carvings show 

The boast of our vain race to change the form 

Of thy fair works. But thou art here — thou fiUBt 

The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 

That run along the suumait of these trees 

In music ; thou art in the cooler breath 

That from the inmost darkness of the place 

Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground 

The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. 

Here is continual worship ; — nature, here. 

In the tranquillity that thou dost love, 

Eujoj^s thy presence, Noiselessly, around. 

From perch to perch, the solitary bird 

Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, 

Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots 

Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 

Of aU the good it does. Thou hast not left 

Thyself without a witness, in these shades. 

Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and gvact 

Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak — 

By whose immovable stem I stand and seem 

Almost annihilated — not a prince. 

In all that proud old world beyond the deep, 

E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 

Wears the green coronal of leaves with which 

Thy hand has graced him, Nestled at his root 

Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 

Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower 

With scented breath, and look so like a smile, 

Beems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, 

An emanation of the indwelling Life, 

A visible token of the upholding Love, 

That are the soul of this wide imiverse. 



A. FOKESI HYMN. 39 

My heart is awed within me when I think 
Df the great miracle that still goes on, 
In silence, round me — the perpetual work 
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
For ever. Written on thy works I read 
The lesson of thy own eternity. 
Lo I all grow old and die — but see again, 
How on the faltering footsteps of decay 
Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful vouth 
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 
Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost 
One of earth's charms : upon her bosom yet. 
After the flight of untold centuries. 
The freshness of her far beginning lies 
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 
Of his arch enemy Death — yea, seats himself 
Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre. 
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 
Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth 
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. 

There have been holy men who hid themselves 
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 
Their lives to thought and prayer, tiU they outliv«»fl 
The generation born with them, nor seemed 
Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 
Around them ; — and there have been holy men 
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. 
But let me often to these solitudes 
Retire, and in thy presence reassure 
My feeble virtue. Here its enemies. 
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink 
And tremble and are still. Oh, God 1 when thou 
Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire 
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, 
With aU the waters of the firmament, 
The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the wciodf 



90 roEMs, 

And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, 
Uprises the great deep and throws himself 
Upon the continent, and overwhelms 
Its cities — who forgets not, at the sight 
Of these tremendous tokene of thy power, 
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies iDyf 
Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face 
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath 
Of the mad unchained elements to teach 
Who rules tliem. Be it ours to meditate, 
In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, 
A.nd to the beautiful order of thy works 
Learn to conform the order of our Uves. 



OH FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS 

Oh fairest of the rural maids I 
Thy birth was in the forest shades ; 
Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky, 
Were all that met thine infant eye. 

Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, 
Were ever in the sylvan wild ; 
And all the beauty of the place 
Is in thy hearc and on thy face. 

The twilight of the trees and rocks 
Is in the light shade of thy locks ; 
Thy step is as the wind, that weaves 
Its playful way among the leaves. 



'I BEOKE THE SPELL THAT HELD ME LONG." 91 

Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene 
And silent waters heaven is seen ; 
Their lashes are the herbs that look 
On their young figures in the brook. 

The forest depths, by foot unpressed, 
Are not more sinless than thy breast ; 
The holy peace, that fills the air 
Of those calm solitudes, is there. 



T BROKE THE SPELL THAT HELD xME LONG." 

I BROKE the spell that held me long, 

The dear, dear witchery of song. 

I said, the poet's idle lore 

Shall waste my prime of years no more, 

For Poetry, though heavenly born. 

Consorts with poverty and scorn 

I broke the spell — nor deemed its power 

Could fetter me another hour. 

Ah, thoughtless! how could I forget 

Its causes were around me yet ? 

For wheresoe'er I looked, the while, 

Was nature's everlasting smile. 

StiU came and lingered on my sight 

Of flowers and streams the bloom and light, 

And glory of the stars and sun ; — 

And these and poetry are one. 

They, ere the world had held me long, 

Recalled me to the love of song. 



92 POEMS. 



JUNE 

I QAZED upon the glorious sky 

And the green mountains round ; 
And thought that when I came to lie 

At rest within the gi'ound, 
'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, 
When brooks send up a cheerful tune, 

And groves a joyous sound, 
The sexton's hand, my grave to make, 
The rich, green mountain turf should break 

A cell within the frozen mould, 

A coffin borne through sleet, 
And icy clods above it rolled. 

While fierce the tempests beat — 
Away 1 — I will not think of these — 
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze, 

Earth green beneath the feet, 
And be the damp mould gently pressed 
Into my narrow place of rest. 

There through the long, long summer hours, 

The golden light should lie. 
And thick young herbs and groups of flowen-- 

Stand iu 'their beauty by. 
The oriole should build and tell 
His love-tale close beside my cell ; 

The idle butterfly 
Should rest him there, and there be heard 
The housewife bee and humming-bird. 



JXTNE. 

And what if cheerful shoiits at ncjon 
Come, from the village seut, 

Or songs of maids, beneath the moon 
With fairy laughter blent? 

And what if, in the evening light, 

Betrothed lovers walk in sight 
Of my low monument ? 

I would the lovely scene around 

Might know no sadder sight nor sound 

I know, I know I should not see 
The season's glorious show, 
Nor would its brightness shine for me, 

Nor its wild music flow ; 
But if, around my place of sleep. 
The friends I love should come to weep, 

They might not haste to go. 
Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom. 
Should keep them lingering by my tomb. 

These to their softened hearts should b^a^ 
The thought of what has been. 

And speak of one who cannot share 
The gladness of the scene; 

Whose part, in all the pomp that fills 

The circuit of the summer hiUs, 
Is — that his grave is green ; 

And deeply would their hearts rejoice 

To hear again his living voice. 



9i* 



94 POKM8. 



A SONG OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND 

Come, take our boy, and we will go 

Before our cabin door ; 
The winds sliall bring us, as they blo-w 

The murmurs of the shore ; 
And we will kiss his young blue eyes, 
And I will sing him, as he lies, 

Songs that were made of yore : 
I'll sing, in his delighted ear, 
The island lays thou lov'st to hear. 

And thou, while stammering I repeat, 
Thy country's tongue shalt teach ; 
'TIS not so soft, but far more sweet 
Than my own native speech : 
For thou no other tongue didst know, 
When, scarcely twenty moons ago, 

Upon Tahete's beach, 
Thou cam'st to woo me to be thine, 
With many a speaking look and aiga 

I knew thy meaning — thou didst praise 
My eyes, my locks of jet ; 

Ah ! well for me they won thy gaze, — 
But thine were fairer yet I 

I'm glad to see my infant wear 

Thy soft blue eyes and sunny hair, 
And when my sight is met 

By his white brow and blooming cheek 

I feel a joy I cannot speak. 



THE FIRMAMENT. 35 

Come talk of Europe s maids with me, 
Whose necks and cheeks, they telL. 

Outshine the beauty of the sea, 

White foam and crimson shell. 

I'll shape like theirs my simple dress, 

And bind like them each jetty tress. 
A sight to please thee well : 

And for my dusky brow will braid 

A bonnet like an English maid. 

Come, for the soft low sunlight calls, 

We lose the pleasant hours ; 
"lis lovelier than these cottage walls,— 

That seat amoug the flowers. 
And I will learn of thee a prayer, 
To Him who gave a home so fair, 

A lot so blest as ours — 
The God who made, for thee and me, 
This sweet lone isle amid the sea. 



THE FIRMAMENT. 

Ay ! gloriously thou standest there, 
Beautiful, boundless firmament I 

That, swelling wide o'er earth and air, 
And round the horizon bent. 

With thy bright vault, and sapphire wal^ 

Dost overhang and circle alL 

Far, far below thee, tall gray trees 
Arise, and piles built up of old. 

And hills, whose ancient summits fr-eeze 
In the fierce light and cold. 



96 POEMB. 

The eagle soars his utmost height, 
Yet far thou stretchest o'er his flight. 

Thou hast thy frowns — with thee on high 
The storm has made his airy seat, 

Beyond that soft blue curtain lie 
His stores of hail and sleet. 

Thence the consuming lightnings break, 

There the strong hurricanes awake. 

Yet art thou prodigal of smiles — 
Smiles, sweeter than thy frowns are stern 

Earth sends, from all her thousand isles, 
A shout at their return. 

The glory that comes down from thee. 

Bathes, in deep joy, the land and sea. 

The sun, the gorgeous sun is thine, 

The pomp that brings and shuts the day. 

The clouds that round him change and shine, 
The airs that fan his way. 

Thence look the thoughtful stars, and there 

The meek moon walks the silent air. 

The sunny Italy may boast 

The beauteous tints that flush her skies, 
And lovely, round the Grecian coast, 

May thy blue pillars rise. 
I only know how fair they stand 
Around my own beloved land. 

And they are fair — a charm is theirs. 

That earth, the proud green earth, has no^ 

With aU the forms, and hues, and airs, 
That haunt her sweetest spot. 

We gaze upon thy calm pure sphere, 

And read of Heaven's eternal year. 



''l CANNOT FORGET." 97 

Oh, when, amid the throng of men, 

The heart grows sick of hollow rtiirth, . 

How willingly we turn us then 
Away from this cold earth. 

And look into thy azure breast, 

For seats of innocence and rest I 



♦ 1 CANNOT FORGET WITH WHAT FERVID 
DEVOTION. ' 

I OANNOT forget with what fervid devotion 
I worshipped the visions of verse and of fame : 

Each gaze at the glories of earth, sky, and ocean, 
To my kindled emotions, was wind over flame. 

And deep were my musings in life's early blossom. 
Mid the twilight of mountain groves wandering 
long; 
How thrilled my young veins, and how throbbed my 
full bosom. 
When o'er me descended the spirit of §ong. 

Mong the deep-cloven fells that for ages had listened 
To the rush of the pebble-paved river between, ^ 

Wliere the kingfisher screamed and gray precipice 
glistened, 
All breathless with awe have I gazed on the scene: 

TiU I fel': the dark power o'er my reveries stealing. 
From the gloom of the thickets that over me hung, 

And the thoughts that awoke, in that rapture of feeling 
Were formed into verse as they rose to my tongue 



98 POBMS^ 

Blight yisions I I mixed with the worc^, ana ye raclea 
]So longer your pure rural worshipper now; 

\n the haunts your continual presence pervaded, 
Ye shrink from the signet of care on my brow. 

n the old mossy groves on the breast of the mountain 
In deep lonely glens where the waters complain, 

By the shade of the rock, by the gush of the fountain 
I seek your loved footsteps, but seek them in vain 

Oh, lerive not, forlorn and for ever forsaken, 
Your pupil and victim to life and its tears! 

But sometimes return, and in mercy awaken 
The glories ye showed to his earlier years. 



TO A MUSQUITO. 

Fair insect ! that, with threadlike legs spread out., 
And blood-extracting bill and filmy wing, 

Does murumr, as thou slowly sail'st about. 
In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, 

And tell how little our large veins would bleed, 

Would we but yield them to thy bitter need. 

Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse, 
Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint ; 

rhou gettest many a brush, and many a curse. 
For saying thou art gaunt, and starved, and faint 

Even the old beggar, while he asks for food, 

W"oiild kill thee, hapless stianger, if he could. 



TO A MTTSQUITO. 99 

call thee stranger, for the town, I ween. 
Has not the honor of so proud a birth, — 
Thou com'st from Jersey meadows, fresh and green. 
The offspring of the gods, though born on earth ^ 
For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she, 
The ocean nymph that nursed thy infancy. 

Beneath the rushes was thy cradle swung. 

And when at length thy gauzy wings grew strong 

A-broad to gentle airs their folds were flung. 
Rose in the sky and bore thee soft along ; 

The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way. 

And danced and shone beneath the billowy bay. 

Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence 
Carae the deep murmur of its throng of men, 

And as its grateful odors met thy sense, 
They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen. 

Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sight 

Thy tiny song grew shriller with delight. 

At length thy pinions fluttered in Broadway — - 

Ah, there were fairy steps, and white necks kissed 
By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray 
Shone through the suowy veils like stars through 
mist ; 
And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin, 
Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent 
skin. 



Sure these were sights to touch an anchorite I 
What I do I hear thy slender voice complain t 

Thou wailest, when I talk of beauty's light, 
As if it brought the memory of pain : 

Thou art a wayward being — well — come near. 

And pour thy tale of sorrow in my eai* 

t- or c. 



100 POEMS. 

What sayst thou — slaiiderer I — rouge makes thee gickl 
And China bloom at best is sorry food ? 

And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick, 
Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood I 

Go 1 'twas a just reward that met thy crime — 

But shim the sacrilege another time. 

That bloom was made to look at, not to touch ; 

To worship, not approach, that radiant white; 
And well might sudden vengeance light on such 

As dared, like thee, most impiously to bite. 
Thou shouldst have gazed at distance and admired. 
Murmured thy adoration and retired. 

Thou'rt welcome to the town — but why come here 
To bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thee ? 

Alas 1 the little blood I have is dear, 
And thin will be the banquet drawn from me. 

Look round — the pale-eyed sisters in my cell, 

Thy old acquaintance, Song and Famine, dwell. 

Tiy some plump alderman, and suck the blood 
Enriched by generous wine and costly meat ; 

On weU-filled skins, sleek as thy native mud. 
Fix thy light pump and press thy freckled feet 

Go to the men for whom, in ocean's halls, 

The oyster breeds, and the green turtle sprawls 

There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows 
To fill the swelling veins for thee, and now 

riie ruddy cheek and now the ruddier nose 
Shall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the bro^ 

And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings, 

6fo angi*y hand shall rise to brush thy wings. 



LINES ON EEVISITING THE OOUNTEY. "101 



LINES ON REVISITING THE COUNTRY. 

I STAND upon my native hills again, 

Broad, round, and green, that in the summer sk} 
With garniture of waving grass and grain, 

Orchards, and beechen forests, basking lie, 
While deep the sunless glens are scooped between. 
Where brawl o'er shallow beds the streams unseen 

A lisping voice and glancing eyes are near. 

And ever restless feet of one, who, now. 
Gathers the blossoms of her fourth bright year , 

There plays a gladness o'er her fair young brow- 
As breaks the varied scene upon her sight, 
Upheaved and spread in verdure and in light- 

For I Lave taught her, with delighted eye. 
To gaze upon the mountains, — to behold, 

With deep affection, the pure ample sky, 
And clouds along its blue abysses rolled, — 

To love the song of waters, and to hear 

The melody of winds with charmed ear. 

Here, I have 'scaped the city's stifling heat, 
Its horrid sounds, and its polluted air ; 

And, where the season's milder fervors beat. 
And gales, that sweep the forest borders, beai 

The song of bird, and sound of running stream, 

Am come awhile to wander and to dream. 

Ay, flame vuy fiercest, sun I thou canst not wake, 
In this pure air, the plague that walks unseen. 

rhe maize leaf and the maple bough but take. 
From thy strong heats, a deeper, glossier green 



102 POEMS. 

The mountain wind, that faints not in thy ray, 
Sweeps the blue steams of pestilence away. 

The mountain wind! most spiritual thing of all 
The wide earth knows; when, in the sultry time 

lie stoops him from his vast cerulean hall, 
He seems the breath of a celestial clime ! 

As if from heaven's wide-open gates did flow 

Health and refreshment on the world below. 



THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, 
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows 

brown and sere. 
Heaped in the hoflows of the grove, the autumn leaves 

lie dead ; 
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread 
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs 

the jay, 
\nd from the wood-top calls the crow through aU the 

gloomy day. 

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that 

lately sprang and stood 
In brighter light, andsofter airs, a beauteous sisterhood^ 
Alas I they all are in their graves, the gentle race of 

flowers 
^e lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good 

of ours. 
rhe rain is falling where they lie, but the cold No 

vember rain 
Oalle Qot from out the gloomy earth the lovely on« 

again. 



THE DEATH OF THE FLO^EES. 103 

The wind-flower and the violet, tiiey perished long 
ago, 

Ajid the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the sum- 
mer glow ; 

But on the hUl the golden-rod, and the aster in thf 
wood, 

And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumm 
beauty stood, 

Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls 
the plague on men, 

And the brightness of their smile was gone, from up- 
land, glade, and glen. 

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as stiU such 
days will come. 

To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter 
home; 

WTien the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though 
all the trees are still, 

And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rUl, 

The south wind searches for the flowei-s whose fra- 
grance late he bore, 

And sighs to find them in the wood and by the 
stream no more. 

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty 

died, 
The fair meek blossom thai grew up and faded by my 

side: 
In lie cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest 

cast the leaf, 
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so 

brief : 
fftt not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend 

of ours, 
JJo gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the 

flowers. 



104 POEMR 



ROMERO. 

When freedom, from the land of Spain, 

By Spain's degenerate sons was driver 
Who gave their willing limbs again 
To wear the chain so lately riven; 
Romero broke the sword he wore — 
" Go, faithful brand," the warrior said, 
" Go, undishonored, never more 

The blood of man shall make thee red 
I grieve for that already shed ; 
And I am sick at heart to know, 
That faithful friend and noble foe 
Have only bled to make more strong 
The yoke that Spain has worn so long. 
Wear it who will, in abject fear — 

I wear it not who have been free ; 
The perjured Ferdinand shall hear 

No oath of loyalty from me." 
Then, hunted by the hounds of power, 

Romero chose a safe retreat. 
Where bleak Nevada's summits tower 

Above the beauty at their feet. 
There once, when on bis cabin lay 
The crimson light of setting day, 
When even on the mountain's breast 
The chainless winds were all at rest, 
And he could hear the river's flow 
From the calm paradise below ; 
Warmed with his former fires again, 
He framed this rude but solemn strain 



BOMESO. 105 



" Here will I make my home — for here at least 1 see, 
Upon this wild Sierra's side, the steps of Liberty; 
WTiere the locust chirps unscared beneath the un 

pruned lime, 
AjQd the merry bee doth liide from man the spoil of 

the mountain thyme ; 
Where the pure winds come and go, and the wild 

vine strays at will, 
A.n outcast from the haunts of men, she dwells with 

Nature stilL 

n. 

" I see the valleys, Spain I where thy mighty rivers 

run. 
And the hUls that lift thy harvests and vineyards to 

the sun, 
And the flocks that drink thy brooks and sprinkle all 

the green. 
Where lie thy plains, with sheep-walks seamed, and 

olive-shades between : 
I see thy fig-trees bask, with the fair pomegranate 

near. 
And the fragrance of thy lemon-groves can almost 

reach me here. 

m. 

' Fair — ^fair — but fallen Spain 1 'tis with a swelling 

heart, 
Tliat I think on all thou mightst have been, and look 

at what thou art ; 
But the strife is over now, and all the good and brave, 
That would have raised thee up, are gone, to exile or 

the grave. 
rhy fleeces are for monks, thy grapes for the convent 

feast, 
^d the wealth of aU thy harvest-fields for the pam 

pered lord and priest. 
8 



106 POEMS. 

IV. 

" But I shall see the day — it will come before 1 

die — 
I shall see it in my silver hairs, and with an agfr 

dimmed eye; — 
When the spirit of the land to liberty shall bound, 
A.S yonder fountain leaps away from the darkness of 

the ground : 
And to my mountain cell, the voices of the free 
Shall rise, as from the beaten shore the Vhunders of 

the sea." 



A IVIEDITATION ON RHODE-ISLAND COAL 

Decoliir, obscurus, vilis, non ille repexain 
Cesariem regum, non Candida Virginia ornBt 
Colla, nee insigni splendet per cingula morse 
Sed nova si nigri videua niiracula saxi, 
Tune siiperat pulchros cultus et quioquid EoiB 
Indus litoribus rubra scrutatur in alga. 

Claudiaw. 

! SAT beside the glowing grate, fresh heaped 

With Newport coal, and as the flame grew bright 

— The many-colored flame — and played and leaped. 
1 thought of rainbows and the northern light, 

Moore's Lalla Rookh, the Treasury Report, 

And other brilliant matters of the sort. 

And last I thought of that fair isle which sent 

The mineral fuel; on a summer day 
I saw it once, with heat and travel spent. 

And scratched by dwarf-oaks in the hollow way , 
Now dragged through sand, now jolted over stoDe- 
A. rugged road through rugged Tiverton. 



A MEDITATION ON COAL. 107 

Aiid hotter grew the air, and hollower grew 
The deep-worn path, and horror-strxiek, I thought 

Where will this dreary passage lead me to ? 
This long duU road, so narrow, deep, and hot ? 

[ looked to see it dive in earth outright ; 

1 looked — but saw a far more welcome sight. 

liike a soft mist upon the evening shore, 

At once a lovely isle before me lay, 
Smooth and with tender verdure covered o'er, 

As if just risen from its calm inland bay; 
Sloped each way gently to the grassy edge. 
And the small waves that dallied with the sedge. 

The barley was jiist reaped — its heavy sheaves 
Lay on the stubble field — the tall maize stood 

Dark in its summer growth, and shook its leaves — 
And bright the sunlight played on the young wood— 

For fifty years ago, the old men say, 

The Briton hewed their ancient groves away. 

I saw where fountains freshened the green land, 
And where the pleasant road, from door to door, 

With rows of cherry-trees on either hand, 
Went wandering ah that fertile region o'er— 

Rogue's Island once — but when the rogues were dead 

Rhode Island was the name it took instead. 

Beautiful island I then it only seemed 
A lovely stranger — it has grown a friend. 

I gazed on its smooth slopes, but never dreamed 
How soon that green and quiet isle would send 

The treasures of its womb across the sea. 

To warm a poet's room and boil his tea. 

Dark anthracite ! that reddenest on my hearth, 
Thou in those island mines didst slumber long ; 

But now thou art come forth to move the earth, 
And put to shame the men that mean thee wrorg 



1 08 P0KM8. 

Thou shalt be coals of fire to those that hate thee, 
And warm the shins of all that underrate thee. 

Yea, they did wrong thee foully — they who mocked 
Thy honest face, and said thou wouldst not bui-n , 

Of hewing thee to chimney-pieces talked, 

And grew profane — and swore, in bitter scorn, 

That men might to thy inner caves retire, 

And there, unsinged, abide the day of fire. 

Yet is thy greatness nigh. I pause to state. 
That I too have seen greatness — even I — 

Shook hands with Adams — stared at La Fayette, 
When, barehead, in the hot noon of July, 

He would not let the umbrella be held o'er him. 

For which thi-ee cheers burst from the mob before hiiK 

And I have seen — not many months ago — 
An eastern Governor in chapeau bras 

And military coat, a glorious show ! 
Ride forth to visit the reviews, and ah ! 

How oft he smiled and bowed to Jonathan ! 

How many hands were shook and votes were won 

Twas a great Governor — thou too shalt be 

Great in thy turn — and wide shall spread thy fam* 

And swiftly; furthest Maine shall hear of thee. 
And cold New Brunswick gladden at thy name, 

And, faintly through its sleets, the weeping isle 

That sends the Boston folks their cod shall smile. 

For thou shalt forge vast railways, and shalt heat 
The hissing rivers into steam, and drive 

Huge masses from thy mines, on iron feet, 
Walking their steady way, as If alive, 

Northward, till everlasting ice besets thee, 

And south as far as the grim Sjianiard lets thee. 



THE NEW MOON. 109 

Thou shalt make mighty engines swim the sea, 

Like its own monsters — boats that for a guinea 
Will take a man to Havre — and shalt be 

The moving soul of many a spinning-jenny 
A.nd ply thy shuttles, till a bard can wear- 
As good a suit of broadcloth as the mayor 

Then we will laugh at winter when we hear 
The grim old churl about our dwellings rave : 

Thou, from that " ruler of the inverted year," 
Shalt pluck the knotty sceptre Cowper gave, 

A-ud pull him from his sledge, and drag him in, 

And melt the icicles from off his chin. 



THE NEW MOON. 

When, as the garish day is done. 
Heaven burns with the descended sun, 

'Tis passing sweet to mark, 
Amid that flush of crimson light. 
The new moon's modest bow grow bright 

As earth and sky grow dark. 

Few are the hearts too cold to feel 
A thrill of gladness o'er them steal, 

When first the wandering eye 
Sees faintly, in the evening blaze. 
That glimmering curve of tender rays 

Juat planted in the sky. 

The sight of that young crescent brings 
Thoughts of all fair and youthful thing»- 
The hopes of early years ; 



1 10 POEMS. 

And childhood's purity and graoe, 
And joys that like a rainbow chanf 
The passing shower of tears. 

The captive yields him to the dreair 
Of fi'eedom, when that virgin beam 

Comes out upon the air : 
And painfully the sick man tries 
To fix his dim and burning eyes 

On the soft promise there. 

Most welcome to the lover's sight, 
Glitters that pure, emerging light ; 

For prattling poets say, 
That sweetest is the lovers' walk, 
And tenderest is their murmured talk., 

Beneath its gentle ray. 

And there do graver men behold 
A type of errors, loved of old, 

Forsaken and forgiven ; 
And thoughts and wishes not of earth, 
Just opening in their early birth, 

Like that new light in heaven. 



- OCTOBER. 

4f, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath, 
When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf. 
And suns grow meek, and the meek sims grow bnet 

And the year smiles as it draws near its death. 



THB DAMSEL OF PEEU. Ill 

Wind of the sunny south 1 oh, still delay 
In the gay woods and in the golden air, 
Like to a good old age released from care, 

Journeying, in long serenity, away. 

In such a bright, late quiet, would that I 
Might wear out life like thee, mid bowers and brookf, 
And, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks, 

And music of kind voices ever nigh ; 

And when my last sand twinkled in the glass. 

Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass. 



THE DAMSEL OF PEEU. 

Where olive leaves were twinkling in every wind 
that blew. 

There sat beneath the pleasant shade a damsel of Peru. 

Betwixt the slender boughs, as they opened to the air, 

Came glimpses of her ivory neck and of her glossy hair ; 

And sweetly rang her silver voice, within that shady 
nook, 

(^ from the shrubby glen is heard the sound of hid- 
den brook. 

THs a song of love and valor, in the noble Spanish 

tongue, 
That once upon the sunny plains of old Castile was 

sung ; 
When, from their mountain holds, on the Moorish roul 

below. 
Had rushed the Christians like a flood, and 8"wepl 

away the foe. 
Awhile that melody is still, and then breaks forth ane-^ 
A wilder rhym'e, a livelier note, of freedom and Peru. 



113 POEMS. 

For she has bound the sword to \ youthful lovei'a 

side, 
A.nd sent him to the war the day she shoidd have 

been his bride, 
And bade him bear a faithful heart to battle for the 

right, 
And held the fountains of her eyes tiU he was out of 

sight. 
Since the parting kiss was given, six weary months 

are fled. 
And yet the foe is in the land, and blood must yet be 

shed. 

A white hand parts the branches, a lovely face looks 
forth, 

And bright dark eyes gaze steadfastly and sadly to- 
ward the north. 

Thou look'st in vain^ sweet maiden, the sharpest sight 
would fail 

To spy a sign of human life abroad in all the vale ; 

For the noon is coming on, and the sunbeams fiercely 
beat, 

And the silent hills and forest-tops seem reeling in the 
heat. 

That white hand is withdrawn, that fair sad face is 

gone. 
But the music of that silver voice is flowing sweetly on, 
Not as of late, in cheerful tones, but mournfully and 

low, — 
A ballad of a tender maid heart-broken long ago. 
Of him who died in battle, the youthful and the brave. 
And her who died of sorrow, upon his early grave. 

But see, along that mountain slope, a fiery horseman 

ride; 
Mark his torn plume, his tarnished belt, the sabre at 

his side. 



THE AFRICAN CHIEF. 11 B 

Hie 8 ours are buried rowel-deep, he rides with loosen 

ed rein, 
There's blood upon his charger's flank and foam upou 

the mane ; 
He speeds him toward the olive-grove, along that 

shad ed hill : 
(Hcd shield the helpless maiden there, if he should 

mean her ill 1 

And suddenly that song has ceased, and suddenly 1 

hear 
A shriek sent up amid the shade, a shriek — but Jtoi 

of fear. 
For tendf^r accents follow, and tenderer pauses speak 
The overflow of gladness, when words are all too weak: 
* I lay my good sword at thy feet, for now Peru is free, 
A^nd I am come to dwell beside the olive-grove with 

thea" 



THE AFRICAN CHIEF. 

Chained in the market-place he stood, 

A man of giant frame, 
Amid the gathering multitude 

That shrank to hear his name — 
All stern of look and strong of limb, 

His dark eye on the ground : — 
And silently they gazed on him, 

As on a Uon bound- 
Vainly, but weU, that chief had fough^ 

He was a captive now, 
Yet pride, that fortune humbles not, 

Was written on his brow. 
8 



114 POEMS. 

The scars his dark broad bosom wok. 

Showed warrior true and brave ; 
A prince among his tribe before, 

He could not be a slave. 

Then to his conqueror he spake — 

" My brother is a king ; 
Undo this necklace from my neck, 

And take this bracelet ring, 
And send me where my brother reigiu 

And I will fill thy hands 
With store of ivory from the plains, 

And gold-dust from the sands." 

** Not for thy ivory nor thy gold 

Will I unbind thy chain ; 
That bloody hand shall never hold 

The battle-spear again. 
A price thy nation never gave 

Shall yet be paid for thee ; 
For thou shalt be the Christian's slave, 

In lands beyond the sea." 

Then wept the warrior chief, and bade 

To shred his locks away ; 
And one by one, each heavy braid 

Before the victor lay. 
Thick were the platted locks, and long, 

And closely hidden there 
Shone many a wedge of gold among 

The dark and crisped hair. 

■* Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold 
Long kept for sorest need : 
Take it — thou askest sums untold, 
And say that I am freed. 



SPEINQ IN TOWN. 116 

Take it — ^my wife, the long, long day, 

Weeps by the eoeoa-tree, 
And my young children leave their play, 

And ask in vain for me." 

' I take thy gold — ^but I have made 

Thy fetters fast and strong, 
And ween that by the cocoa shade 

Thy wife will wait thee long." 
Strong was the agony that shook 

The captive's frame to hear, 
And the proud meaning of his look 

Was changed to mortal fear. > 

His heart was broken — crazed his brain " 

At once his eye grew wild ; 
He struggled fiercely with his chain, 

Whispered, and wept, and smiled ; 
Yet wore not long those fatal bands, 

And once, at shut of day. 
They drew him forth upon the sands, 

The foul hyena's prey. 



SPRING IN TOWN. 

The country ever has a lagging Spring, 
Waiting for May to call its violets forth. 

And June its roses — showers and sunshine bring. 
Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth ; 

To put their foliage out, the woods are slack, 

And one by one the singing-birds come back. 



J 16 FOEM8. 

Within the citj''s bounds the time of flowerb 
Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day, 

*>ucli as full often, for a few bright hours, 

Breathes through the sky of March the airs of 
May, 

.4hine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom"* 

And It our borders glow with sudden bloom. 

For the wide sidewalks of Bi-oadway are then 
Gorgeous as are a rivulet's banks in June, 

That overhung with blossoms, through its glen, 
Slides soft away beneath the sunny noon, 

And they who search the untrodden wood for flowen 

Meet in its depths no lovelier ones than ours. 

For here are eyes that shame the violet. 
Or the dark drop that on the pansy lies. 

And foreheads, white, as when in clusters set. 
The anemones by forest mountains rise ; 

And the spring-beauty boasts no tenderer streak 

Than the soft red on many a youthful cheek. 

And thick about those lovely temples lie 

Locks that the lucky Vignardonne has curled, 

Thrice happy man whose trade it is to buy. 

And bake, and braid those love-knots of the woild; 

Who curls of every glossy color keepest. 

And sellest, it is said, the blackest cheapest. 

A.nd weU thou mayst — for Italy's brown maids 
Send the dark locks with which their brows art 
dressed. 

And Gascon lasses, from their jetty braids, 
Crop half, to buy a riband for the rest ; 

But the fresh Norman girls their tresses spare, 

A.nd the Dutch damsel keeps her flaxen hair 



THE GLADNESS OF NATUEB. 117 

Then, henceforth, let no maid nor matron grieve, 

To see her locks of an unlovely hue, 
Frouzy or thin, for liberal art shall give 

Such piles of curls as nature never knew. 
Eve, "W ith her veil of tresses, at the sight 
Had blushed, outdone, and owned herself a fright. 

Soft voices and light laughter wake the street. 
Like notes of woodbirds, and where'er the eye 

Threads the long way, plumes wave, and twinkling fea, 
Fall light, as hastes that crowd of beauty by. 

The ostrich, hurrying o'er the desert space. 

Scarce bore those tossing plumes with fleeter pace 

No swimming Juno gait, of languor born. 
Is theirs, but a light step of freest grace 

Light as Camilla's o'er the unbent corn, — 
A step that speaks the spirit of the place. 

Since Quiet, meek old dame, was driven away 

To Sing Sing and the shores of Tappan bay. 

Ye that dash by in chariots ! who will care 
For steeds or footmen now ? ye cannot show 

Fair face, and dazzling dress, and graceful air. 
And last edition of the shape I Ah, no, 

These sights are for the earth and open sky, 

And your loud wheels unheeded rattle by. 



THE GLADNESS OF NATURE. 

Lb this a time to be cloudy and sad, 

When our mother Nature laughs around ; 

When even the deep blue heaveus look glad. 
And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground 



118 POEMB. 

There are noujc of joy from the hang-bird and -wren, 
And the gossip of swallows througli ail the sky ; 

The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den, 
And the wilding bee hums merrily by. 

The clouds are at play in the azure space, 
And their shadows at play on the bright green valf 

A.nd here they stretch to the frolic chase, 
And there they roll on the easy gale. 

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, 
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree. 

There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flowei 
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. 

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles 
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray. 

On the leaping waters and gay young isles ; 
Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. 



THE DISINTERRED WARRIOR. 

Gather him to his grave again, 

And solemnly and softly lay, 
Beneath the verdure of the plain, 

The warrior's scattered bones away. 
Pay the deep reverence, taught of old. 

The homage of man's heart to death ; 
Nor dare to trifle with the mould 

Once hallowed by the Almighty's breath 

The soul hath quickened every part — 
That remnant of a martial brow, 

Those ribs that held the mighty heart, 
That strong arm — strong no longer now 



THE DISflSfTEKRED WAEEIOE. 1 lU 

iSpare them, each mouldering relic spare, 
Of God's own image ; let them rest, 

Till not a trace shall speak of where 
The awftd likeness was impressed. 

For he was fresher from the hand 

That formed of earth the human face, 
And to the elements did stand 

In nearer kindred than our race. 
In many a flood to madness tossed. 

In many a storm Las been his path ; 
He hid him not from heat or frost, 

But met them, and defied their wrath. 

Then they were kind — the forests here, 

Rivers, and stiller waters, paid 
A tribute to the net and spear 

Of the red rider of the shade. 
Fruits on the woodland branches lay, 

Roots in the shaded soil below, 
The stars looked forth to teach his way. 

The still earth warned him of the foe. 

A noble race ! but they are gone. 

With their old forests wide and deep, 
And we have built our homes upon 

Fields whei-e their generations sleep. 
Their fountains slake our thirst at noon, 

Upon their fields our harvest waves. 
Our lovers woo beneath their moon — 

Then let us spare, at least, their gravee 



[20 POEMB 



MIDSUMMER, 

A POWER is on the earth and in the air 
From which the vital spirit shrinks afraid, 
And shelters him, in nooks of deepest shade. 

From the hot steam and from the fiery glare. 

Look forth upon the earth — her thousand plants 
Are smitten ; even the dark sun-loving maize 
Faints in the field beneath the torrid blaze ; 

The herd beside the shaded fountain pants ; 

For life is driven from all the landscape brown ; 
The bird has sought his tree, the snake his den, 
The trout floats dead in the hot stream, and mej 

Drop by the sun-stroke in the populous town : 
As if the Day of Fire had dawned, and sent 
Its deadly breath into the firmament 



THE GREEK PARTISAN. 

Our free flag is dancing 

In the free mountain air, 
And burnished arms are glancing, 

And warriors gathering there ; 
And fearless is the little train 

Whose gaUant bosoms shield it ; 
The blood that warms their hearts shall stain 

That banner, ere they yield it. 



THE GEEEK PAET18AN. 181 

—Each dark eye is fixed on earth, 
And brief each solemn greeting ; 

There is no look nor sound of mirth, 
Where those stern men are meeting. 

They go to the slaughter 

To strike the sudden blow. 
And pour on earth, Like water,, 

The best blood of the foe ; 
To rush on them from rock and height, 

And clear the narrow valley, 
Or fire their camp at dead of night. 

And fly before they rally. 
— Chains are round our coimtry pressed, 

And cowards have betrayed her, 
And we must make her bleeding breast 

The grave of the invader. 

Not till from her fetters 

We raise up Greece again, 
And write, in bloody letters, 

That tyranny is slain, — 
Oh, not till then the smile shall steal 

Across those darkened faces, 
Nor one of all those warriors feel 

His children's dear embraces. 
—Reap we not the ripened wheat, 

Till yonder hosts are flying, 
And aU their bravest, at our feet, 

Like autumn sheaves are lyingi 



122 POKMS. 



THE TWO GRAVES. 

'Tis a bleak wild hill, but green and bright 
It the summer warmth and the mid-day light ; 
There's the hum of the bee and the chirp of the wren, 
And the dash of the brook from the alder glen ; 
There's the sound of a bell from the scattered flock, 
And the shade of the beech lies cool on the rock, 
And fresh from the west is the free wind's breath,— 
There is nothing here that speaks of death. 

Far yonder, where orchards and gardens lie, 
And dwellings cluster, 'tis there men die. 
They are born, they die, and are buried near, 
Where the populous grave-yard lightens the bier • 
For strict and close are the ties that bind 
In death the children of human-kind ; 
yea, stricter and closer than those of life, — 
'Tis a neighborhood that knows no strife. 
They are noiselessly gathered — friend and foe — 
To the still and dark assemblies below ; 
Without a frown or a smile they meet. 
Each pale and calm in his winding-sheet ; 
In that sullen home of peace and gloom, 
Crowded, like guests in a banquet-room. 

Yet there are graves in this lonely spot, 
Two humble graves, — but I meet them not 
I have seen them, — eighteen yeare are past. 
Since I found their place in the brambles last,- 
The place where, fifty winters ago. 
An aged man in his locks of snow, 
And an aged matron, withered with years, 
Were solemnly laid ! — but not with tears. 



TEU2 TWO GEAVE8. 123 

For none, who sat by the light of their hearth, 
Beheld their coffins covered with earth ; 
Their kindred were far, and their children dead, 
When the funeral prayer was coldly said. 

Two low green hillocks, two small gray stones,. 
Kose over the place that held their bones ; 
But the grassy hillocks are levelled again, 
And the keenest eye might search in vain, 
'Mong briers, and ferns, and paths of sheep, 
For the spot where the aged couple sleep 

Yet well might they lay, beneath the feoil 
Of this lonely spot, that man of toil, 
And trench the strong hard mould with the spade, 
Where never before a grave was made ; 
For he hewed the dark old woods away, 
And gave the virgin fields to the day ; 
And the gourd and the bean, beside his door. 
Bloomed where their flowers ne'er opened before ; 
And the maize stood up, and the bearded rye 
Bent low in the breath of an unknown sky. 

'Tis said that when life is ended here, 
The spirit is borne to a distant sphere ; 
That it visits its earthly home no more, 
Nor looks on the haunts it loved before. 
But why should the bodiless soul be sent • 
Far off, to a long, long banishment ? 
I'alk not of the light and the living green 1 
It will pine for the dear familiar scene ; 
It will yearn, in that strange bright world, to behol«l 
The rock and the stream it knew of old. 

'Tis a cruel creed, believe it not 1 
Death to the good is a milder lot. 
They are here, — they are here, — that harmless pair 
In the yellow sunshine and flowing air. 



124 POEMS. 

In the light cloud-shadows that elowly pass, 

In the souuds that rise from the murmuring grass. 

They sit where their humble cottage stood, 

They walk by the waving edge of the wood, 

And list to the long-accustomed flow 

Of the brook that wets the rocks below. 

Patient, and peaceful, and passionless, 

As seasons on seasons swiftly press. 

They watch, and wait, and linger around, 

Till the day when their bodies shall leave the groimd 



THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS 

1 WOULD not always reason. The straight path 
Wearies us with its never-varying lines, 
And we grow melancholy, I would make 
Reason my guide, but she should sometimes sit 
Patiently by the way-side, while I traced 
The mazes of the pleasant wUderness 
Ai'ound me. She should be my counsellor, 
But not my tyrant For the spirit needs 
Impulses from a deeper source than hers, 
And there are motions, in the mind of man, 
That she must look upon with awe. I bow 
Reverently to her dictates, but not less 
Hold to the fair illusions of old time — 
Illusions that shed brightness over life. 
And glory over nature. Look, even now, 
Where two bright planets in the twilight meet. 
Upon the saffron heaven, — the imperial star 
Of Jove, and she that from her radiant urn 
Pours forth the light of love. Let me believe, 
AwhixC, that they are met for ends of good, 



THE OONJinSTOTION Of JUPITEE A.ND VENUS. 125 

A.Tnid the evening glory, to confer 

Of men and their affairs, and to shed down 

Kind influence. Lo ! they brighten as we gaze. 

And shake out softer tires I The great earth feels 

The gladness and the quiet of the time. 

Meekly the mighty river, that infolds 

This mighty city, smooths his front, and far 

Glitters and burns even to the rocky base 

Of the dark heights that bound him to the west ; 

A.nd a deep murmur, from the many streets, 

Rises like a thanksgiving. Put we hence 

Dark and sad thoughts awhile — there's time for them 

Hereafter — on the morrow we will meet, 

With melancholy looks, to tell our griefs. 

And make each other wretched ; this calm hour, 

This balmy, blessed evening, we will give 

To- cheerful hopes and dreams of happy days, 

Born of the meeting of those glorious stars. 

Enough of drought has parched the year, and soared 
The land with dread of famine. Autumn, j-et, 
Shall make men glad with unexpected fruits. 
The dog-star shall shine harmless : genial days 
Shall softly glide away into the keen 
And wholesome cold of winter; he that fears 
The pestilence, shall gaze on those pure beams, 
And breathe, with confidence, the quiet air. 

Emblems of power and beauty 1 well may the} 
Shine brightest on our borders, and withdraw 
Towards the great Pacific, marking out 
The path of empire. Thus, in our own land. 
Ere long, the better Genius of our race, 
Having encompassed earth, and tamed its tribes, 
Shall sit him down beneath the farthest west, 
By the shore of that calm ocean, and look h&ost 
On realms made happy. 



126 PO£MB. 

Light the nuptial torch, 
And say the glad, yet solemn rite, that knits 
The youth and maiden. Happy days to them 
That wed this evening I — a long life of love, 
And blooming sons and daughters 1 Happy they 
Born at this hour, for they shall see an age 
Whiter and holier than the past, and go 
Late to their graves. Men shall wear softer hearts, 
And shudder at tJie butcheries of war, 
As now at other murders. 

Hapless Greece I 
Enough of blood has wet thy rocks, and stained 
Thy rivers ; deep enough thy chains have worn 
Their links into thy flesh ; the sacrifice 
Of thy pure maidens, and thy innocent babes, 
And reverend priests, has expiated all 
Thy crimes of old. In yonder mingling light" 
There is an omen of good days for thee. 
Tbou shalt arise from midst the dust and sit 
Again among the nations. Thine own arm 
Shall yet redeem thee. Not in wars like thine 
The world takes part. Be it a strife of kings, — 
Despot with despot battling for a throne, — 
And Europe shall be stirred throughout her realms 
Nations shall put on harness, and shall fall 
Upon each other, and in all their bounds 
The wailing of the childless shall not cease. 
Thine is a war for liberty, and thou 
Must fight it single-handed The old world 
Looks coldly on the murderers of thy race, 
And leaves thee, to the struggle ; and the new,— 
I fear me thou couldst teU a shameful tale 
Of fraud and lust of gain ; — thy treasury drained, 
And Missolonghi fallen. Yet thy wrongs 
BhaU put new strength into thy heart and hand, 
And God and thy good sword shall yet work out^ 
For thee, a terrible deliverance. 



k SUMMEB EAMBLfi. 127 



A SUMMER RAMBLE. 

TffK quiet August noon has come, 
A slumberous silence fills the sty, 

The fields are still, the woods are dumb, 
In glassy sleep the waters lie. 

And mark yon soft white clouds that rest 
Above our vale, a moveless throng ; 

The cattle, on the mountain's breast, 
Enjoy the grateful shadow long. 

Oh, how unlike those merry hours, 
In early June, when Earth laughs out, 

When the fresh winds make love to flowers, 
And woodlands sing and waters shout 

When in the grass sweet voices talk. 
And strains of tiny music swell 

From every moss-cup of the rock. 
From every nameless blossom's belL 

But now a joy too deep for sound, 
A peace no other season knows. 

Hushes the heavens and wraps the gronndj 
The blessing of supreme repose. 

Away 1 I will not be, to-day, 
The only slave of toil and care. 

Away from desk and dust ! away I 
rU be as idle as the air. 



128 POSMB. 

Beneath the open sky abroad, 

Among the plants and breathing thui|KSi 
The sinless, peaceful wcrks of God, 

1*11 share the calm the season brings. 

Come, thou, in whose soft eyes I see 
The gentle meanings of thy heart, 

One day amid the woods with me. 
From men and all their cares apart. 

And where, upon the meadow's breast, 
The shadow of the thicket lies, 

The blue wild flowers thou gatherest 
Shall glow yet deeper near thine eyes 

Come, and when mid the calm profound, 
I turn, those gentle eyes to seek, 

They, like the lovely landscape round, 
Of innocence and peace shall speak. 

Rest here, beneath the unmoving shade, 
And on the silent valleys gaze, 

Winding and widening, till they fade 
In yon soft ring of summer haze. 



The village trees their summits rear 
Still as its spire, and yonder flock 

At rest in those calm fields appear 
As chiselled from the lifeless rock. 



One tranquil mount the scene o'erlooks — 

There the hushed winds their sabbath keep 
While a near hum ft'om bees and brooks 
' Comes faintly like the breath of sleep 



A. SCENE ON THE HTTDBON. 129 

Well may the gazer deem that when, ^ 
Worn with the struggle and the strife, 

And heart-sick at the wrongs of men, 
The good forsakes the scene of life ; 

yke this deep quiet that, awhile, 

Lingers the lovely landscape o'er. 
Shall be the peace whose holy smile 

Welcomes him to a happier shore. 



A SCENE ON THE BANKS OF THE UUDBON 

Cool shades and dews are round my way, 

And silence of the early day ; 

Mid the dark rocks that watch his bed, 

Glitters the mighty Hudson spread, 

Unrippled, save by di'ops that fall 

From shrubs that fringe his mountain wall ; 

And o'er the clear still water swells 

The music of the Sabbath b^lls. 

All, save this little nook of land, 

Circled with trees, on which I stand ; 

All, save that line of hills which lie 

Suspended in the mimic sky — 

Seems a blue void, above, below. 

Through which the white clouds come and go 

And from the green world's furthest steep 

I gaze into the airy deep. 

Loveliest of lovely things are they, 
On earth, that soonest pass away. 
The rose that lives its little hour 
Is prized beyond the sculptured flower. 
9 



1 80 POEMS. 

Even love, long tried and cherished lon<^ 
Becomes more tender and more strong, 
At thought of that insatiate grave 
From which its yearnings cannot save 

River ! in this still hour thou hast 
Too much of heaven on earth to last . 
Nor long may thy still waters lie, 
An image of the glorious sky. 
Thy fate and mine are not repose. 
And ere another evening close, 
Thou to thy tides shalt turn again, 
And 1 to seek the crowd of men. 



THE HURRICANE 

Lord of the winds I I feel thee nigh, 
I know thy breath in the burning sky 1 
And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, 
For the coming of the hurricane 1 

And lo I on the wing of the heavy gales, 
Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails 
Silent and slow, and terribly strong, 
The mighty shadow is borne along, 
Like the dark eternity to come ; 
While the world below, dismayed and dumb, 
Through the calm of the thick hot atmospheit 
Looks up at its 'gloomy folds with fear. 

They darken fast ; and the golden blaze 
Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze, 
And he sends through the shade a funeral ray- 
A glare that is neither night nor day, 



THE HUESICANE. 181 

A. beam that touches, with hues of death, 
The clouds above and the earth beneath. 
To its covert glides the silent bird, 
While the hurricane's distant voice is heaid 
Uplifted among the mountains round, 
And the forests hear and answer the sound. 

He is come 1 he is come ! do ye not behold 
His ample robes on the wind unrolled I 
Giant of air 1 we bid thee hail 1 — 
How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale ; 
How his huge and writhing arms are bent. 
To clasp the zone of the firmament. 
And fold at length, in their dark embrace, 
From mountain to mountain the visible space. 

Darker — stiU darker 1 the whirlwinds bear 
Tlie dust of the plains to the middle air : 
And hark to the crashing, long and loud, 
Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud 1 
You may trace its path by the flashes that start 
From the rapid wheels where'er they dart, 
As the fire-bolts leap to the world below. 
And flood the skies with a lurid glow. 

What roar is that ? — 'tis the rain that breaks 
In torrents away from the airy lakes. 
Heavily poured on the shuddering ground. 
And shedding a nameless horror round. 
Ah I well-known woods, and mountains, and skies 
With the very clouds 1 — ye are lost to my eyes. 
I seek ye vainly, and see in your place 
The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space 
A whirling ocean that fills the wall 
Of the crystal heaven, and buries all. 
ind I; cut off from the world, remain 
AJone with the terrible hurricane. 



POBMB. 



WILLIAM TELL 

CuAiNS may subdue the feeble spirit but tliee, 
Tell, of the iron heart ! they coiil 1 not tame ! 
For thou wert of the mountains ; taey proclaim 

The everlasting creed of liberty 

That creed is written on the untrampled snow, 
Thundered by torrents which no power can hold^ 
Save that of God, when he sends forth his cold, 

And breathed by winds that through the free heavei 
blow. 

rhou, while thy prison walls were dark around, 
Didst meditate the lesson Nature taught. 
And to thy brief captivity was hi-ouglit 

1 vision of thy Switzerland unbound. 
The bitter cup they mingled, strengthened thee 
For the great work to set thy country free. 



THE- HUNTER'S SERENADE 

Thy bower is finished, fairest I 
Fit bower for hunter's bride— 

Where old woods overshadow 
The green savanna's side. 



THE huktek's serenade. J 38 

Tve wandered long, and wandered far. 

And never have I met, 
In all this lovely western land, 

A spot so lovely yet. 
But I shall think it fairer, 

When thou art come to bless. 
With thy sweet smile and silver voice. 

Its silent loveliness. 

For thee the wild gi-ape glistens, 

On sunny knoll and tree, 
The slim papaya ripens 

Its yellow fruit for thee. 
For thee the duck, on glassy stream, 

The praij'ie-fowl shall die, 
My rifle for thy feast shall bring 

The wild swan from the sky. 
The forest's leaping panther, 
. Fierce, beautifvil, and fleet, 
Shall yield his spotted hide to be 

A carpet for thy feet. 

1 know, for thou hast told me, 

Thy maiden love of flowers ; 
Ah, those that deck thy gardens 

Are pale compared with ours. 
When our wide woods and mighty lawn? 

Bloom to the April skies, 
The earth has no more gorgeous sight 

To show to human eyes. 
In meadows red with blossoms, 

AH summer long, the bee 
Murmurs, and loads his yellow thighs. 

For thee, my love, and me; 

Or wouldst thou gaze at tokens 

Of ages long ago — 
Our old oaks stream with mosses, 

And sprout with mistletoe ; 



1 84 roEMB. 

A.nd mighty vines, like sei'pents, climb 

The giant sycamore ; 
And trunks, o'erthrown for crnturies. 

Cumber the forest floor ; 
And in the great savanna, 

The solitary mound, 
Built by the elder world, o'erlooks 

The loneliness around. 

Come, thou hast not forgotten 

Thy pledge and promise quite, 
With many blushes murmured. 

Beneath the evening light. 
Come, the young violets crowd my door 

Thy earnest look to win. 
And at my silent window-sill 

The jessamine peeps in. 
All day the red-bird warbles, 

Upon the mulberry near, 
And the night-sparrow trills her song, 

All night, with none to hear. 



THE GREEK BOY. 

Gone are the glorious Greeks of old, 

Glorious in mien and mind ; 
Their bones are mingled with the mould, 

Their dust is on the wind ; 
The forms they hewed from living stone 
Survive the waste of years, alone. 
And, scattered with their ashes, show 
What greatness perished long ago. 



THE PABT. 



135 



Yet fresh the myrtles there— the springs 

Gush brightly as of yore ; 
Flowers blossom from the dust of kings, 

As many an age before. 
There nature moulds as nobly now, 
As e'er of old, the human brow : 
And copies still the martial form 
That braved Plataea's battle storm. 

Boy ! thy first looks were taught to seek 

Their heaven in Hellas' skies ; 
Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek, 

Her sunshine lit thine eyes ; 
Thine ears have drunk the woodland strains 
Heard by old poets, and thy veins 
Swell with the blood of demigods, 
That slumber in thy country's sods. 

Now is thy nation free — though late— 

Thy elder brethren broke — 
Broke, ere thy spirit felt its weight. 

The intolerable yoke. 
And Greece, decayed, dethroned, doth see 
Her youth renewed in such as thee : 
A shoot of that old vine that made 
The nations silent in its shade. 



THE PAST. 

Thou unrelenting Past 1 
Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, 

And fetters, sure and fast, 
Hold all that enter thy unbroathitig reign. 



» 



:36 POBM& 

Far in thy realm withdrawn 
Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom, 

And glorious ages gone 
Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. 

Childhood, with all its mirth. 
Youth, Manhood, Age that draws us to the grour 

And last, Man's Life on earth, 
Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound 

Thou hast my better years, 
Thou hast my earlier friends — the good — the kind 

Yielded to thee with tears — 
The venerable form — the exalted mind. 



My spirit yearns to bring 
Tbe lost ones back — yearns with desire intense. 

And struggles hard to wring 
Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives theuc« 

In vain — thy gates deny 
All passage save to those who hence depart ; 

Nor to the streaming eye 
rhou giv'st them back — nor to the broken bearL 

In thy abysses hide 
Beauty and excellence imknown — to thee 

Earth's wonder and her pride 
A.re gathered, as the waters to the sea ; 



Labors of good to man, 
Unpublished charity, unbroken faith, — 

Love, that midst grief began. 
And grew with years, and faltered not m death 



THE PAST. 18T 

Fall many a mighty name 
Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered ; 

With thee are silent fame, 
Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared. 

Thine for a space are they — 
Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last • 

Thy gates shall yet give way, 
Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past 1 

All that of good and fair 
Has gone into thy womb from earliest time, 

Shall then couie forth to wear 
The glory and the beauty of its prime. 

They have not perished — no I 
Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet> 

Smiles, radiant long ago, 
And features, the great soul's apparent seat. 

All shall come back, each tie 
Of pure affection shall be knit again ; 

Alone shall Evil die. 
And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. 

And then shall I behold 
Him, by whose kind })aternal side I sprung, 

And her, who, still and cold, 
Fills the next grave — the beautiful and young 



188 POEMS. 



UPON THE MOUNTAIN'S DISTANT HEAD' 

Upon the mountain's distant head, 
With trackless snows for ever white, 

Where all is still, and cold, and dead, 
Late shines the day's departing light 

But far below those icy rocks, 

The vales, in summer bloom arrayed, 

Woods full of birds, and fields of flocks. 
Are dim with mist and dark with shade. 

Tis thus, from warm and kindly hearts, 
And eyes where generous meanings burn. 

Earliest the light of life departs, 
But lingers with the cold and stern. 



THE EVENING WIND. 

Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou 
That cool'st the twilight of the siiltry day, 

Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow : 
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, 

Hiding all day the wild blue waves till now. 
Roughening their crests, and scattering high theii 
spray 

A.nd swelling the white sail I welcome thee 

To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea I 



THE EVENING WIND. 139 

N"or I alone — a thousand bosoms round 

Inhale thee in the fulness of delight ; 
A.nd languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 

Livelier, at coming of the wind of night ; 
Ajid, languishing to hear thy grateful sound. 

Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight 
Go forth into the gathering shade ; go ftni h, 
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth I 

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, 

Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse 

The wide old wood from his majestic rest, 
Summoning from the innumerable boughs 

The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast : 
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows 

The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass. 

And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the 
grass. 

The faint old man shall lean his silver head 
To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, 

And dry the moistened curls that overspread 

His temples, while his breathing grows more deep 

And they who stand about the sick man's bed, 
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, 

And softly part his curtains to allow 

Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. 

Go — ^but the circle of eternal change. 
Which is the life of nature, shall restore. 

With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range 
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more ; 

Bweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange, 
Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore ; 

And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem 

He hears the rustling leaf and r nnning stream. 



140 I'OEMH 



"WHEN THE FIRMAMENT QUIVERS WITH 
DAYLIGHT'S YOUNG BEAM." 

When the firmament quivers with daylight's youug 
beam, 
And the woodlands awaking burst into a hymn, 
And the glow of the sky blazes back from the stream, 
How the bright ones of heaven in the brightnesa 
grow dim. 

Oh 1 'tis sad, in that moment of glory and song, 
To see. while the lull-tops are waiting the sun. 

The glittering band that kept watch all night long 
O'er Love and o'er Slumber, go out one by one • 

im the circle of ether, deep, ruddy, and vast, 

Scarce glimmers with one of the train that wero 
there ; 

And their leader the day-star, the brightest and last. 
Twinkles faintly and fades in that desert of air. 

Thus, Oblivion, from midst of whose shadow we came, 
Steals o'ei- us again when life's twilight is gone ; 

And the crowd of bright names, in the heaven of fame 
Grow pale and are quenched as the years hasten oil 

Let them fade — but we'll pray that the age, in whose 
flight, 
Of ourselves and our friends the remembrance shaU 
die, 
May rise o'er the world, with the gladness and light 
Of the morning that withers the stars from the sky 



INNOOENT CHILD 141 



' INNOOENl CHILD AND SNOW-WHITE 
FLOWER." 

Innocent child and snow- white flower 1 
Well are ye paired in your opening hour. 
Thus shouJd the pure and the lovely meet, 
Stainless with stainless, and sweet with sweet 

White as those leaves, just blown apart, 
Are the folds of thy own young heart , 
Guilty passion and cankering care 
Never have left their traces there. 

Artless onel though thou gazest now 
O'er the white blossom with earnest brow, 
Soon will it tire thy childish eye ; 
Fair as it is, thou wilt throw it by. 

Throw it aside in thy weary hour, 
Throw to the ground the fair white flow*' 
Yet, as thy tender years depart. 
Keep that white and innocent heart. 



142 FOEMB. 



TO THE RIVER ARVE. 

JCPP09ED TO BE WRITTEN AT A HAMLET NEAR IHB FOOT 
OF MONT BLANa 

Not from the sands or cloven rocks, 

Thou rapid Arve I thy waters flow ; 
Nor earth, within her bosom, locks 

Thy dark uufathomed wells below. 
Tliy springs are in the cloud, thy stream 

Begins to move and murmur first 
Where ice-peaks feel the noonday beam, 

Or rain-storms on the glacier burst. 

Born where the thunder and the blast 

And morning's earliest light are born, 
Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast, 

B} these low homes, as if in scorn : 
Yet humbler springs yield purer waves ; 

And brighter, glassier streams than thine, 
Sent up from earth's unlighted caves, 

With heaven's own beam and image shine 

Yet stay ; for here are flowers and trees ; 

Warm rays on cottage roofs are here, 
And laugh of girls, and hum of bees — 

Here linger tiU thy waves are clear. 
Tliou heedest not — thou hastest on , 

From steep to steep thy torrent falls, 
Till, mingling with the miglity Rhone, 

It i-ests beneath Geneva's walls. 



rO COLE, THE PAINTEE, 14B 

Rush on — but were there one with me 

That loved me, I would light my hearth 
Here, where with God's own majesty 

Are touched the features of the earth. 
By these old peaks, white, high, and vast. 

Still rising as the tempests beat. 
Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last, 

Among the blossoms at their feet 



TO COLE, THE PAINTER, DEPARTING FOR 
EUROPE. 



SONNET. 



Thine eyes shall see the light of distant skies : 

Yet, ColeI thy heart shall bear to Europe's strand 
A living image of our own bright land, 
Such as upon thy glorious canvas lies ; 

Lone lakes — savannas where the bison roves 

Rocks rich with summer garlands — solemn 
streams — 
^ Skies, where the desert agle wheels and screams- 
Spring bloom and autumn blaze of boundless groves. 
Fair scenes shall greet thee where thou goest — fair, 
But diiFerent. — every where the trace of men. 
Paths, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest glee 
To where life shrinks from the fierce Alpine air. 
Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight, 
But keep that earlier, wilder image bright. 



144 POEMB. 



TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN 

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew. 
And colored with the heaven's own blue. 
That open est when the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night. 

Thou eomest not when violets lean 
O'er wandering brooks and springs uuseei 
Or columbines, in purple dressed, 
Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. 

Thou waitest late and cora'st alone, 
When woods are bare and birds are flown. 
And frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged year is near his end. 

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
Look through its fringes to the sky, 
Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 
A flower from its cerulean walL 

I would that thus, when I shall see 
The hour of death draw near to me, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
May look to heaven as I depart 



HYMN TO THE OITY. 146 



THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER. 

Wild was the day ; tlie wintry sea 
Moaned sadly on New England's strand. 

When first the thoughtful and the free. 
Our fathers, trod the desert land. 

They little thought how pure a light, 

With years, should gather round that day ; 

How lovfc should keep their memories bright, 
How wide a realm their sons should sway. 

Green are their bays ; but greener stiU 

Shall round their spreading fame be wreattned. 

And regions, now untrod, shall thrill 
With reverence when their names are breathed 

TiU where the sun, with softer fires, 

Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep. 
The children of the pilgrim sires 

This hallowed day like us shall keep. 



HYMN TO THE CITY. 

Not in the solitude 
^one may man commune with Heaven, or set 

Only in savage wood 
And sunny vale, the present Deity ; 

Or only hear his voice 
Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoices 

10 



1 46 POEMS. 

E'ven here do I behold 
rhy steps, Almighty 1 — here, amidst the ciwwd, 

Through the great city rolled, 
With everlasting murmur deep and loud — 

Choking the ways that wind 
TMongst the proud piles, the work of human kincL 

Thy golden sunshine comes 
From the lound heaven, and on their dwellings liee. 

And lights their inner homes ; 
For them thou fiU'st with air the unbounded skiep 

And givest them the stores 
Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores. 

Thy Spirit is around. 
Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along 

And this eternal sound — 
Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng- 

Like the resounding sea. 
Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee. 

And when the hours of rest 
Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine, 

Hushing its billowy breast — 
The quiet of that moment too is thine ; 

It breathes of Him who keeps 
The vast and helpless city while it eleej* 



THE PEAIEIES. 141 



THE PRAIRIES. 

Thxse are the gardens of the Desert, these 
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful. 
For which the speech of England has no name — 
The Prairies, I behold them for the first, 
And my heart swells, while the dilated sight 
Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo 1 they stretch 
In airy undulations, far away, 
As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell. 
Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed, 
And motionless for ever. — Motionless ? — 
No — they are all unchained again. The clouds 
Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath, 
The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye ; 
Dark hoUows seem to glide along and chase 
The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South ! 
Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers. 
And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on high. 
Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not — ye have playe* 
Among the palms of Mexico and vines 
Of Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks 
That fi'om the fountains of Sonora glide 
Into the calm Pacific — ^have ye fanned 
A nobler or a lovelier scene than this ? 
Man hath no part in aU this glorious work : 
The hand that built the firmament hath heaved 
And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown theii 

slopes 
With herbage, planted them 'with island groves, 
And hedged them round with forests. Fitting floor 
For this magnificent temple of the sky — 
With flowers whose glory and whose multitude 
Rival the constellations I The great heavens 



1 48 POEMS. 

Seem to stoop down upon the scene in loTe,— 

A. nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue 

Than that which bends above our eastern hill%. 

A 8 o'er the verdant waste I guide my steed, 
•imong the high rank grass that sweeps his sides 
The hollow beating of his footstep seems 
A sacrilegious sound. I think of those 
Upon whose rest he tramples. Are they here— 
The dead of other days? — and did the dust 
Of these fair solitudes once stir with life 
And burn with passion ? Let the mighty mounds 
That overlook the rivers, or that rise 
In the dim forest crowded with old oaks, 
Answer. A race, that long has passed away, 
Built them ; — a disciplined and populous race 
Heaped with long toil, the earth, while yet the Greeli 
Was hewing the Pentelicus to forms 
Of symmetry, and rearing on its rock 
The glittering Parthenon. These ample fields 
Nourished their harvests, here their herds were fed. 
When haply by their stalls the bison lowed. 
And bowed his maned shoulder to the yoke. 
All day this desert murmured with their toils, 
Till twilight blushed, and lovers walked, and wooed 
In a forgotten language, and old tunes, 
From instruments of unremembered form, 
Gave the soft winds a voice. The red man came— 
The roaming hunter tribes, warlike and fierce. 
And the mound-builders vanished from the earth. 
The solitude of centuries untold 
Has settled where they dwelt. The prairie-wolf 
Hunts in their meadows, and his fresh-dug den 
Yawns by my path. The gopher mines the ground 
Where stood their swarming cities. All is gone ; 
All — save the piles of earth that hold their bones, 
The platforms where they worshipped unknown goda 
The barriers which they builded from the soil 



THE PEA.IEIE9. 149 

To keep the foe at bay — till o'er the walls 

The wild beleaguerers broke, and, one by one, 

The strongholds of the plain were forced, and heape*^ 

With corpses. The brown vultures of the wood 

Flocked to those vast uncovered sepulchres, 

And sat, unscared and silent, at their feast. 

Haply some solitary fugitive, 

Lui'king in marsh and forest, till the sense 

01 desolation and of fear became 

Bitterer than death, yielded himseK to die. 

Man's better nature triumphed then. Kind words 

Welcomed and soothed him ; the rude conquerors 

Seated the captive with their chiefs ; he chose 

A. bride among their maidens, and at length 

Seemed to forget, — yet ne'er forgot, — the wife 

Of his first love, and her sweet Uttle ones, 

Butchered, amid their shrieks, with all his race 

Thus change the forms of being. Thus arise 
Races of living things, glorious in strength. 
And perish, as the quickening breath of God 
Fills them, or is withdrawn. The red man, too 
Has left the blooming wilds he ranged so long 
And, nearer to the Rocky Mountains, sought 
A wilder hunting-ground. The beaver builds 
No longer by these streams, but far away, 
On waters whose blue surface ne'er gave back 
The white man's face — among Missouri's springs, 
And pools whose issues swell the Oregan, 
He rears his little Venice. In these plains 
The bison feeds no more. Twice twenty leagues 
Beyond remotest smoke of hunter's camp, 
Roams the majestic brute, in herds that shake 
The earth with thundering steps — yet here I mee. 
His ancient footprints stamped beside the pooL 

StiU this great solitude is quick with life. 
Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers 



150 POEMS. 

Tbey flutter over, gentle quadrupeds, 

And birds, that scarce have learned the fear of nuu^ 

Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground, 

Startlingly beautiful. The graceful deer 

Bounds to the wood at my approach. The bee, 

A more adventurous colonist than man. 

With whom he came across the eastern deep. 

Fills the savannas with his murmurings. 

And hides his sweets, as in the golden age. 

Within the hollow oak. I listen long 

To his domestic hum, and think I hear 

The sound of that advancing multitude 

Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the ground 

Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice 

Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn 

Of Sabbath worshippers. The low of herds 

Blends with the rustUng of the heavy grain 

Over the dark-brown furrows. All at once 

A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my drean*. 

And I am in the wilderness alone. 



SONG OF MAJIION'S MEN. 

Cue band is few, but true and tried, 

Our leader frank and bold ; 
The Brilish soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good greenwood^ 

Our tent the cypress-tree ; 
We know the forest round us, 

As seamen know the sea. 



SONG OF Marion's men. 161 

We know its walls of thorny vines, 

Its glades of reedy grass, 
Its safe and silent islands 

Within the dark morass. 

Wo to the English soldiery 

That little dread us near 
On them shall light at midnight 

A strange and sudden fear : 
When, waking to their tents on fire, 

They grasp their arms in vain, 
And they who stand to face us 

Are beat to earth again ; 
And they who fly in terror deem 

A mighty host behind, 
And hear the tramp-of thousands 

Upon the hollow wind. 

Then sweet the hour that brings release 

From danger and from toil : 
We talk the battle over. 

And share the battle's spoiL 
The woodland rings with laugh and shout^ 

As if a hunt were up, 
And woodland flowers are gathered 

To crown the soldier's cup. 
With merry songs we mock the wind 

That in the pine-top grieves, 
And slumber long and sweetly 

On beds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 

The band that Marion leads — 
The glitter of their rifles, 

The scampering of their steeds. 
"Tis life to guide the fiery barb 

Across the moonlight plain ; 
Tis life to feel the night-wind 

That lifts his tossinti: mane. 



152 POEMS. 

A moment in the British camp— 

A moment — and away 
Back to the pathless forest, 

Before the peep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad Sautes 

Grave men with hoary hairs, 
Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our band 

With kindliest welcoming, 
With smiles like those of summer. 

And tears like those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty arms. 

Ajid lay them down no more 
TiU we have driven the Briton, 

For ever, from our shore. 



THE ARCTIC LOVER. 

Gone is the long, long winter night ; 

Look, my beloved one I 
How glorious, through his depths of light 

Rolls the majestic sun I 
The willows, waked from winter's death. 
Give out a fragrance like thy breath — 

The summer is begun I 

Ay, 'tis the long bright summer day : 

Hark, to that mighty crash I 
The loosened ice-ridge breaks away— 

The smitten waters flash. 



THE AROTIH LOVEE, 153 

Seaward the glittering mountain i'ldes, 
While, down its green translucent sides, 
The foamy torrents dash. 

See, love, my boat is moored for thee. 

By ocean's weedy floor — 
The petrel does not skim the sea 

More swiftly than my oar. 
We'll go, where, on the rocky isles, 
Her eggs the screaming sea-fowl piles 

Beside the pebbly shore. 

Or, bide thou where the poppy blows. 
With wind-flowers frail and fair, 

While I, upon this isle of snows, 
Seek and defy the bear. 

Fierce though he be, and huge of frame, 

This arm his savage strength shall tamej 
And drag him from his lair. 

When crimson sky and flamy cloud 

Bespeak the summer o'er, 
And the dead valleys wear a shroud 

Of snows that melt no more, 
I'll build of ice thy winter home. 
With glistening walls and glassy dome 

And spread with skins the floor. 

The white fox by thy couch shall play ; 

And, from the frozen skies. 
The meteors of a mimic day 

Shall flash upon thine eyes. 
And I — for such thy vow — meanwhile 
Shall hear thy voice and see thy smile 

Till that long midnight flies. 



L54 POEMB. 



THE JOURNEY OF LIFE. 

Beneath the waning moon I walk at night, 
And muse on human life — for all around 

Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the eight, 
And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground, 

And broken gleams of brightness, here and there, 

Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like ail 

Tbe trampled earth returns a sound of fear — 
A hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs ; 

And lights, that teU of cheerful homes, appear 
Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms. 

A mournful wind across the landscape flies, 

And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs. 

And 1, with faltering footsteps, journey on, 
Watching the stars that roll the hours away, 

Till the faint Ught that guides me now is gone. 
And, like another life, the glorious day 

Shall open o'er me from the empyreal height. 

With warmth, and certainty, and boundless light 



TRANSLATIONS 



VTERSION OF A FRAGMENT OF SIMONmia 

The night winds howled — the billows dashed 

Against the tossing chest ; 
As Dauafi to her broken heart 

Her slumbering infant pressed. 

'• My little child " — in tears she said — 
" To wake and weep is mine, 
But thou canst sleep — thou dost not know 
Thy mother's lot, and thine. 

" The moon is up, the moonbeams smile — 
They tremble on the main ; 
But dark, within my floating cell, 
To me they smile in vain- 

" Thy folded mantle wraps thee warm, 
Thy clustering locks are dry, 
Thou dost not hear the shrieking gust, 
Nor breakers booming high. 



156 TRANSLATIONS. 

" Ab o'er thy sweet unconscious face 
A mournful watch I keep, 
I think, didst thou but know thy fate, 
How thou wouldst also weep. 

" Yet, dear one, sleep, and sleep, ye winds 
That vex the restless brine — 
When shall these eyes, my babCj be sealed 
As peacefully as thine 1 " 



FROM THE SPANISH OF VILLEGAS. 

*Tis sweet, in the green Spring, 
To gaze upon the wakening fields aroxind ; 

Birds in the thicket sing. 
Winds whisper, waters prattle from the ground 

A thousand odors rise. 
Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand dyea 

Shadowy, and close, and cool. 
The pine and poplar keep their quiet nook ; 

For ever fresh and full. 
Shines, at their feet, the thirst-inviting brook ; 

And the soft herbage seems 
Spread for a place of banquets and of ireama 

Thou, who alone art fair. 
And whom alone I love, art far away 

Unless thy smile be there. 
It makes me sad to see the earth so gay ; 

I care not if the train 
Of leaves, and flowers, and zephyrs go again. 



MABY MAGDALEN. 167 



MARY MAGDALEN. 

FROM SHE SPANISH OF BABTOLOME LEONARDO DE ABGENSOLA 

[>LissED, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted 1 
The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn. 
In wonder and in scorn ! 
Thou weepest days of innocence departed ; 

Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move 
The Lord to pity and love. 

The greatest of thy follies is forgiven, 

Sven for the least of all the tears that shine 
On that pale cheek of thine. 
rhou didst kneel down, to Him who came from heaven 
Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise 
Holy, and pure, and wise. 

[t is not much that to the fragrant blossom 
The ragged brier should change ; the bitter fir, 
Distil Arabian myrrh 1 
Nor that, upon the wintry desert's bosom, 
The harvest should rise plenteous, and the swain 
Bear home the abundant grain. 

Bat come and see the bleak and barren mountains 
Thick to their tops with roses : come and see 
Leaves on the dry dead tree : 
rhe perished plant, set out by living fountains, 
Grows fruitful, and its beauteous branches rise, 
For ever, towards the skies. 



(58 TEANSLATI0N8. 



THE LIFE OF THE BLESSED. 

mOM THE SPANISH OF LUIS PONCE DE hBCK 

Region of life and light I 
Land of the good whose earthly toils are o'er I 

Nor frost nor heat may blight 

Thy vernal beauty, fertile shore, 
fielding thy blessed fruits for evermore , 

There, without crook or sling, 
rValks the good shepherd ; blossoms white and red 

Round his meek temples cling ; 

And to sweet pastures led, 
His own loved flock beneath his eye is fed. 

He guides, and near him they 
Follow delighted, for he makes them go 

Where dwells eternal May, 

And heavenly roses blow, 
Deathless, and gathered but again to grow. 

He leads them to the height 
Named of the infinite and long-sought Good, 

And fountains of delight ; 

And where his feet have stood 
Springs up, along the way, their tender food. 

And when, in the mid skies, 
The climbing sun has reached his highest bound 

Reposing as he lies, 

With all his flock around, 
He witches the still air with numerous sound. 



PATIMA AND EADT7AN. 15tJ 

From his sweet lute flow forth 
Immortal harmonies, of power to still 

AU passions born of earth, 

And draw the ardent will 
Its destiny of goodness to fulfiL 

Might but a little part, 
A wandering breath of that high melody, 

Descend into my heart, 

And change it till it be 
Transformed and swallowed up, oh lo\ e . ii> *l««e 

Ah 1 then my soul should know, 
Beloved 1 where thou liest at noon of day, 

And from this place of woe 

Released, should take its way 
To mingle with thy flock and never stray. 



FATIMA AND RADUAN. 

FKOM TEEE SPANISH. 



Diamante falso y fingido, 
Engastado en pedernal, &c. 



'* Fai^e diamond set in flint 1 hard heart in haii^bt^y 

breast I 
By a softer, warmer bosom the tiger's couch is prest. 
Thou art fickle as the sea, thou art wandering as th* 

wind, 
And the restless ever-mounting flame is not more hard 

to bind. 



160 TEAN8LATI0N8. 

[f the tears I shed were tongues, yet all too fevi 

would be 
To tell of all the treachery that thou hast shown to me 
Oh I could chide thee sharply — but every maiden 

knows 
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goe& 

' Thou hast called me oft the flower of all Grenada's 

maids, 
Thou hast said that by the side of me the first and 

fairest fades ; 
A.nd they thought thy heart was mine, and it seemed 

to every one 
That what thou didst to win my love, for love of 

me was done. 
Alas 1 if they but knew thee, as mine it is to know, 
They well might see another mark to which thine ar 

rows go ; 
But thou giv'st me little heed — for I speak to one who 

knows 
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he 

goes. 

" It wearies me, mine enemy, that I must weep and 

bear 
What fills thy heart with triumph, and fills my own 

with care. 
Thou art leagued with those that hate me, and ah I 

thou know'st I feel 
That cruel words as surely kiU as sharpest blades of 

steeL 
Twas the doubt that thou wert false that wrung my 

heart with pain ; 
But, now I know thy perfidy, I shall be well again. 
I would proclaim thee as thou art — ^but every maiden 

knows 
rhat she who chides her lover, forgives him ere h« 

goes." 



LOVK AND FOLLY. J 61 

Thus Fafcima complained to tlie valiant Raduan, 
Where underneath the myrtles Alhambra's fountaina 

ran: 
The Moor was inly moved, and blameless as h* was, 
He took her white hand in his own, and pleaded thrJi 

his cause : 
'' Oh, lady, dry those star-like eyes — their dimness 

does me wrong ; 
If my heart be made of flint, at least 'twill keep th^ 

image long ; 
Thou hast uttered cruel words — ^but I grieve the les" 

for those, 
Since she who chides her lover, forgives him ere ho 

goes." 



LOVE AND FOLLY. 

FROM LA FONTAINE. 

Love's worshippers alone can know 

The thousand mysteries that are hie ; 
His blazing torch, his twanging bow, 

His blooming age are mysteries. 
A charming science — ^but the day 

Were all too short to con it o'er ; 
So take of me this little lay, 

A sample of its boundless lore. 

Ab once, beneath the fragrant shade 
Of myrtles fresh in heaven's pure air, 

The children, liOve and Folly, played — 
A quarrel rone betwixt the pair. 
11 



162 TEANSLATIONS. 

Love said the gods should do him right-- 
But FoUy vowed to do it then, 

And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight, 
So hard he never saw again. 

His lovely mothers grief was deep 

She called for vengeance on the deed ; 
A beauty does not vainly weep, 

Nor coldly does a mother plead. 
A shade came o'er the eternal bliss 

That fills the dwellers of the skies ; 
Even stony-hearted Nemesis, 

And Rhadamanthus, wiped their eyes. 

'* Behold," she said, " this lovely boy," 

While streamed afresh her graceful teart 
* If imortal, yet shut out from joy 
And sunshine, all his future years. 
The child can never take, you see, 

A single step without a staff — 
The harshest punishment would be 
Too lenient for the crime by half." 

All said that Love had suffered wrong, 

And well that wrong should be repaid ; 
Then weighed the public interest long. 

And long the party's interest weighed. 
And thus decreed the court above — 

" Since Love is blind from FoUj^s blow 
Let Folly be the guide of Love, 

Where'er the boy may choose to pjo." 



THE SIESTA. 163 



THE SIESTA. 

FROM THE SPANISH. 



Viontecico niurmurador, 

Que lo gozas y andaa todo, &c. 



AiBS, that wander and murmur round. 
Bearing delight where'er ye blow I 

Make in the elms a lulling sound, 
While my lady sleeps in the shade below. 

Lighten and lengthen her noonday rest, 

Till the heat of the noonday sun is o'er. 
Sweet be her slumbers 1 though in my breast 

The pain she has waked may slumber no monc 
Breathing soft from the blue profound. 

Bearing delight where'er ye blow, 
Make in the elms a lulling sound, 

"WhUe my lady sleeps in the shade below 

Airs 1 that over the bending boughs. 

And under the shade of pendent leaves, 
Murmur soft, like my timid vows 

Or the secret sighs my bosom heaves, — 
Gently sweeping the grassy ground. 

Bearing delight where'er ye blow. 
Make in the elms a lulling sound, 

While my lady sleeps in the shade below. 



1 64 TRANSLATIONS. 



THE ALCAYDE OF MOLINA. 

FROM THE SPANISH. 

To the town of Atienza, Molina's brave Alcayde, 
The courteous and the valorous, led forth his bold 

brigade. 
The Moor canie back in triumph, he came without a 

wound, 
With many a Christian standard, and Christian cap- 
tive bound. 
He passed the city portals, with swelling heart and 

vain. 
And towards his lady's dwelling he rode with slack 

ened rein ; 
Two circuits on his charger he took, and at the third. 
From the door of her balcony Zelinda's voice was 

heard. 
' Now if thou wert not shameless," said the lady to 

the Moor, 
" Thou wouldst neither pass my dwelling, nor stop 

before my door. 
Alas for poor Zelinda, and for her wayward mood, 
That one in love with peace should have loved a man 

of blood 1 
Since not that thou wert noble I chose thee for mj 

knight, 
But that thy swoi'd was dreaded in tournay and iii 

fight. 
Ah, thoughtless and unhappy ! that I should fail to set 
How ill the stubborn flint and the yielding wax agree 
Boast not thy love for me, while the shrieking of the fif« 
Can change thy mood of mildnes'^ to fury and to strifc-t 



THE ALOAYDE OF MC LINA. 166 

oay not my voice is magic — thy pleasure is to lieai 
The bursting of the carbine, and shivering of the spear 
Well, follow thou thy choice — to the battle-field away, 
To thy triumphs and thy trophies, since I am less than 

they. 
llirust thy arm into thy buckler, gird on thy crooted 

brand, 
And call upon thy trusty squire to bring thy spears 

in hand. 
Lead forth thy band to skirmish, by mountain and by 

mead. 
On thy dappled Moorish barb, or thy fleeter border 

steed. 
Go, waste the Christian hamlets, and sweep away 

their flocks, 
From Almazan's broad meadows to Sigufinza's rocks. 
Leave Zelinda altogether, whom thou leavest oft and 

And in the life thou lovest, forget whom thou dost 

wrong. 
These eyes shall not recall thee, though they meet no 

more thine own, 
Thoiogh they weep that thou art absent, and that 1 

am all alone." 
She ceased, and turning from him her flushed and an 

gry cheek, 
'^ui the door of her balcony before the Moor coiil<^ 

speak. 



166 TRANSLATIONS. 



THE DEATH OF ALIATAR 

FROM THE SPANISH- 

*Tis not with gilded sabres 

That gleam in baldricks blue, 
Nor nodding plumes in caps of Fez 

Of gay and gaudy hue — 
But, habited in mourning weeds, 

Come marching from afar. 
By four and four, the valiant men 

Who fought with Aliatar. 
All mournfully and slowly 

The afflicted warriors come, 
To the deep wail of the trumpet, 

And beat of muffled drum. 

The banner of the Phenix, 

The flag that loved the sky. 
That scarce the wind dared wanton with, 

It flew so proud and high — 
Now leaves its place in battle-field, 

And sweeps the ground in grief. 
The bearer drags its glorious folds 

Behind the fallen chief, 
As mournfully and slowly 

The afflicted warriors come. 
To the deep wail of the trumpet, 

And beat of muffled drum. 

Brave Aliatar led forward 

A hundred Moors to go 
To where his brother held Motril 

Against the leaguering foe. 



THE DEATH OF ALIATAE. 

On horseback went the gallant Moor, 

That gallant band to lead ; 
And now his bier is at the gate, 

From which he pricked his steed. 
While mournfully and slowly 

The aMcted warriors come. 
To the deep wail of the trumpet 

And beat tf muffled drum. 

The knights of the Grand Master 

In crowded ambush lay ; 
They rushed upon him where the reeds 

Were thick beside the way , 
They smote the valiant Aliatar, 

They smote the warrior dead, 
And broken, but not beaten, were 

The gallant ranks he led 
Now mournfully and slowly 

The afflicted warriors come. 
To the deep wail of the trumpet, 

An d beat of muffled drum. 

Oh I what was Zayda's sorrow, 

How passionate her cries 1 
Her lover's wounds streamed not more fref 

Than that poor maiden's eyes. 
Say, Love — for didst thou see her tears: 

Oh, no I he drew more tight 
The blinding fiUet o'er his lids 

To spare his eyes the sight. 
While mournfully and slowly 

The afflicted warriors come. 
To the deep wail of the trumpet, 

And beat of muffled drum. 

Nor Zayda weeps him only, 

But all that dwell between 
The great Alhambra's palace walk 

And springs of Albaicin. 



.67. 



168 TRANSLATIONS. 

The ladies weep the flower of knights, 

The brave the bravest here ; 
The people weep a champion, 

The Alcaydes a noble peer. 
While moiirufiiUy and slowly 

The afflicted warriors come, 
To the deep wail of the trumpet, 

And beat of muffled drimi. 



LOVE IN THE AGE OF CHIVALRY 

FROM PEYRE VIDAL, rOE TROUBADOUR. 

The earth was sown w'th early flowers, 

The heavens were blue and bright — 
I met a youthful cavalier 

As lovely as the light. 
I knew him not — but in my heart 

His graceful image lies, 
And well I marked his open brow, 

His sweet and tender eyes. 
His ruddy lips that ever smiled. 

His glittering teeth betwixt. 
And flowing robe embroidered o'er, 

With leaves and blossoms mixed. 
He wore a chaplet of the rose ; 

His palfrey, white and sleek. 
Was marked with many an ebon spot^ 

And many a purple streak ; 
Of jasper was his saddle-bow, 

His housings sapphire stone. 
And brightly in his stirrup glanced 

The purple calcedon. 



THE LOYE OF GOD. 169 

Fast rode the gallant cavalier, 

As youthful horsemen ride ; 
'Peyre Vidall know that I am Love," 

The blooming stranger cried ; 
" And this is Mercy by my side, 

A dame of high degree ; 
This maid is Chastity," he said, 

" This squire is Loyi Jty." 



THE LOVE OF GOD. 

FROM THE PROVENgAL OF BERNARD RA80AS,, 

All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away, 
Except the love of God, which shall live and last foi 

aye. 
The forms of men shall be as they had never been ; 
The blasted groves shall lose their fresh and tender 

green ; 
The birds of the thicket shall end their pleasant song, 
And the nightingale shall cease to chant the evening 

long. 
The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that kills, 
And all the fair white flocks shall perish from the hills, 
rhe goat and antlered stag, the wolf and the fox, 
The wild boar of the wood, and the chamois of tht 

rocks. 
And the strong and fearless bear, in the trodden dusf 

shall lie ; 
And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty whale, 

shall die 
12 



170 TEANSLATIOMS, 

And realms shall be dissolved, and empires be no mor«, 
And they shall bow to death, who ruled from shor^ 

to shore; 
.\nd the great globe itself, so the holy writings tell, 
iVith the rolling firmament, where the starry armies 

dwell. 
Shall melt with fervent heat — they shall all pass away, 
lixcept the love of God, which shall live and last fci 

aye. 



FPOM THE SPANISH OF PEDRO DE CASTRO \ 
ANAYA. 

Stat, rivulet, nor haste to leave 

The lovely vale that lies around thee. 

Why wouldsi thou be a sea at eve, 

When but a fount the morning found thee? 

Born when the skies began to glow, 

Humblest of aU the rock's cold daughters, 

No blossom bowed its stalk to show 

Where stole thy still and scanty waters. 

Now on thy stream the noonbeams look, 
Usurping, us thou downward driftest, 

Its crystal from the clearest brook, 
Its rushing current from the swiftest. 

Ah wliat wild haste 1 — and all to be 

A river and expire in ocean. 
Each fountain's tribute hurries thee 

To that vast grave with quicker motion 



SONNET. 17] 

Far better 'twere to linger still 

In this green vale, these flowers to cherish, 
And die in peace, an aged rill, 

Than thus, a youthlul Danube, perish. 



SONNET. 

FBOM THE PORTUGUESE OF SEMEDO. 

It is a fearful night ; a feeble glare 

Streams from the sick moon in the o'erclouded skv 

The ridgy billows, with a mighty cry, 
Rush on the foamy beaches wild and bare ; 
No bark the madness of the waves wiU dare ; 

The sailors sleep ; the winds are loud and high 

Ah, peerless Laura ! for whose love I die, 
WTio gazes on thy smiles while I despair? 

As thus, in bitterness of heart, I cried, 
I turned, and saw my Laura, kind and bright, 

A messenger of gladness, at my side : 
To my poor bark she sprang with footstep light. 

And as we furrowed Tago's heaving tide^ 
I CO'' ei saw 80 beautiful a ais^* 



172 TRANSLATIONS. 



SONG. 
FBOM THE SPANISH OF IGLESIAa 

Alkxts calls me cruel : 
The rifted crags that hold 

The gathered ice of winter, 
He says, are not more cold. 

When even the very blossoms 
Around the fountain's brim. 

And forest walks, can witneai 
The love I bear to hinx. 

I would that I could utter 
My feelings without shame ', 

And tell him how I love him, 
Nor wrong my virgin fame. 

Alas ! to seize the moment 
When heart inclines to heart, 

A.nd press a suit with passion, 
Is not a woman's part. 

If man come not to gather 
The roses where they stand. 

They fade among their foliage; 
They cannot seek his hand. 



THE COUNT OF GEEIEEft. 17^ 



THE COUNT OF GREIERS. 

FROU THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 

A., morn the Count of Greiers before his castle stands , 
He sees afar the glory that lights the mountain Jands; 
The horned crags are shining, and in the shade between 
A pleasant Alpine valley lies beautifully green. 

" Oh, greenest of the valleys, how shall I come to thee ! 

rhy herdsmen and thy maidens, how happy must 
they be 1 

I have gazed upon thee coldly, all lovely as thou art, 

But the wish to walk thy pastures now stirs my in- 
most heart," 

He hears a sound of timbrels, and suddenly appear 
A troop of ruddy damsels and herdsmen drawing near 
They reach the castle greensward, and gayly dancf 

across ; 
The white sleeves flit and glimmer, the wreaths and 

ribands toss. 

rhe youngest of the maidens, slim as a spray of 

spring, 
She takes the young count's fingers, and draws Lim tc 

the ring. 
They fling upon his forehead a crown of mountaic 

flowers, 
■* And ho, young Count of Greiers 1 tliis morning thou 

art ours] " 



1 74 TRANSLATIONS. 

rhen hand in hand departing, with dance and poun 

delay, 
Through hamlet after hamlet, they lead the Coim 

away. 
Ihey dance through wood and meadow, they danc 

across the linn, 
Till the mighty Alpine summits have shut the music in 

The second morn is risen, and now the third is come ; 
Where stays the Count of Greiers ? has he forgot hie 

home? 
Again the evening closes, in thick and sultry air ; 
There's thunder on the mountains, the storm is gath 

ering there. 

The cloud has shed its waters, the brook comes swol 

len down; 
You see it by the lightning — a river wide and brown. 
Around a struggling swimmer the eddies dash and 

roar, 
Till, seizing on a willow, he leaps upon the shore. 

" Here am I cast by tempests far from your mountain 

delL ^ 
Amid our evening dances the bursting deluge fell. 
Ye all, in cots and caverns, have 'scaped the water 

spout, 
While me alone the tempest o'erwhelmed and hurried 

out 

' Farewell, with thy glad dwellers, green vale among 

the rocks 1 
Farewell the swift sweet moments, in which I watched 

thy flocks 1 
Why rocked they not my cradle in that delicious spot^ 
rhat garden of the happy, where Heaven endures 

me not ) 



THE SEEENADE. 1*75 

"' Rose of tlie Alpine valley! I feel, in every vein, 
rhy soft touch on my fingers; oh, press them not 

again I 
Bewitch me not, ye garlands, to tread that npwarvl 

track, 
ind thou, my cheerless mansion, receive thy maate» 

hack." 



THE SERENADE. 

FROM THE SPANISH. 

If slamber, sweet Lisena 1 
Have stolen o'er thine eyee. 

As night steals o'er the glory 
Of spring's transparent skies ; 

Wake, in thy scorn andbeaiity. 
And listen to the strain 

That murmurs my devotion, 
That mourns for thy disdain. 

Here by thy door at midnight, 
I pass the dreary hour. 

With plaintive sounds profaning 
The silence of thy bower ; 

A tale of sorrow cherished 

Too fondly to depart, 
Of wrong from love the flattere7 

And my own wayward heart. 



1 78 TRANSLATIONS. 

Twice, o'er this vale, the seasons 
Have brought and borne away 

The January tempest, 
The genial wind of May ; 

Yet still my plaint is uttered, 
My tears and sighs are given 

To earth's unconscious waters, 
And wandering winds of heaven 

I saw, from this fair region, 
The smile of summer pass, 

And myriad frost-stars glitter 
Among the russet grass. 

While winter seized the streamletf 
That fled along the ground, 

And fast in chains of crystal 
The truant murmurers bound. 

I saw that to the forest 

The nightingales had flown, 

And every sweet-voiced fountain 
Had hushed its silver tone. 

The maniac winds, divorcing 
The turtle from his mate, 

Raved through the leafy beechea, 
And left them desolate. 

Now May, with life and music, 
The blooming valley fills. 

And rears her flowery arches 
For all the little rills. 

The minstrel bird of evening 
Comes back on joyous wings, 

And, like the harp's soft murmur 
Is heard the gush of springs. 



A NORTIIEEN LEGEND. 177 

And deep within the forest 

Are wedded turtles seen. 
Their nuptial chambers seeking, 

Their chambers close and greea 

The rugged trees are mingling 

Their flowery sprays in love ; 
The ivy climbs the laurel, 

To clasp the boughs above. 

They change — but thou, Lisena, 

Art cold while I complain : 
Why to thy lover only 

Should spring return in vain f 



A NORTHERN LEGENI 

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 

There sits a lovely maiden, 
The ocean murmuring nigh ; 

She throws the hook, and watchee , 
The fishes pass it by. 

A ring, with a red jewel, 
Is sparkling on her hand ; 

Upon the hook she binds it. 
And flings it from the land. 

Uprises from the water 

A hand like ivory fair. 
What gleams upon its finger J 

The golden ring is there. 

12 



178 TRANSLATIONS. 

Uprises from the bottom 

A young and handsome knight 
In golden scales he rises, 
' That glitter in the light. 

The maid is pale with terror — 
" Nay, Knight of Ocean, nay, 

It "was not thou I wanted ; 
Let go the ring, I pray." 

" Ah, maiden, not to fishes 

The bait of gold is thrown ; 
The ring shall never leave me^ 
And thou must be my owii." 



THE PARADISE OF TEARIJ 

FROM THE GERMAN OF N. MUELLEK. 

Beside the River of Tears, with branches lo^w, 
And bitter leaves, the weeping willows grow; 
The branches stream like the dishevelled hair 
Of women in the sadness of despair. 

On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh ; 
The roebs moan wildly as it passes by ; 
Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand, 
And not a flower adorns the dreary land- 
Then comes a child, whose face is like the sun, 
And dips the gloomy waters as they run, 
And waters all the region, and behold 
The ground is bright with blossoms manifold. 



THE LADY OF OASTLE WINDEOK. 179 

Where tall tlie tears of love the rose appears, 

And where the ground is bright with fi lendship's tear*, 

Forget-me-not, and violets, heavenly blue, 

Spring, glittering with the cheerful drops like de-vr. 

I he souls of mourners, all whose tears are dried, 
Like swans, come gently floating down the tide. 
Walk up the golden sands by which it flows, 
And in that Paradise of Tears repose. 

There every heart rejoins its kindred heart ; 
Tnere, in a long embrace that none may part, 
Fulfilment meets desire, and that fair shore 
Beholds its dwellers happy evermore. 



IHE LADY OF CASTLE WINDECK 

FROM THE GERMAN OF CHAMTSSO. 

Rein in thy snorting charger ! 

That stag but cheats thy sight ; 
He is luring thee on to Windeck, 

With his seeming fear and flight. 

Now, where the mouldering turrets 

Of the outer gate arise. 
The knight gazed over the ruins 

Where the stag was lost to his eyes. 

The sun shone hot above him ; 

The castle was still as death ; 
He wiped the sweat from his forenead, 

With a deep and weary breath. 



180 TRANSLATIONS. 

'• "Who now will bring me a beaker 
Of the rich old wine that here, 
In the choked-up vaults of Windeck 
Has lain for many a year ? " 

The careless words had scarcely 
Time from his lips to fall, 

When the Lady of Castle Windeek, 
Came round the ivy -wall. 

He saw the glorious maiden 

In her snow-white drapery stand 

The bunch of keys at her girdle, 
The beaker high in her hand. 

He quaffed that rich old vintage ; 

With an eager lip he quaffed ; 
But he took into his bosom 

A fire with the grateful draught 

Her eyes' unfathomed brightness! 

The flowing gold of her hair 1 
He folded his hands in homage, 

And murmured a lover's prayer 

She gave him a look of pity, 

A gentle look of pain ; 
And quickly as he had seen her 

She passed from his sight agaiif. 

And ever, from that moment, 
He haunted the ruins there, 

\. sleepless, restless wanderer, 
A watcher with despair. 



THE LADY OF OASTLE WINDEOK. 181 

Ghost-like and pale he wandered. 

"With a dreamy, haggard eye ; 
He seemed not one of the living. 

And yet he could not die. 

Tis said that the lady met him. 

When many years had past, 
ind kissing his lips, released hid 

From the hiirdea of life &% h'A 



LATER POEMS. 



TO THE APENNINES 

Four peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines 1 
In the soft light of these serenest skies ; 

From the broad highland region, black with p!a«s, 
Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise, 

Bathed in the tint Penivian slaves behold 

In rosy flushes on the virgin gold. 

There, rooted to the afirial shelves that wear 
The glory of a brighter world, might spring 

Sweet flowers of heaven to scent the unbreathed air, 
And heaven's fleet messengers might rest the wing 

To view the fair earth in its summer sleep, 

Silent, and cradled by the glimmering deep. 

Below you lie men's sepulchres, the old 
Etrurian tombs, the graves of yesterday ; 

The herd's white bones lie mixed with human mould, 
Yet up the radiant steeps that I survey 

Death never climbed, nor life's soft breath, with pain. 

Was yielded to the elements again. 



TO THE APENNINES. 183 

Ages of wtir have filled these plains with fear • 
How oft the hind has started at the clash 

Of spears, and yell of meeting armies here, 
Or seen the lightning of the battle flash 

From clouds, that rising with the thunder's sound, 

Hung like an earth-born tempest o'er the ground 1 

Ail me 1 what armed nations — ^Asian horde. 
And Libyan host — the Scythian and the Gaul, 

Have swept your base and through your passes poured, 
Like ocean-tides uprising at the call 

Of tyrant winds — against your rocky side 

The bloody billows dashed, and howled, and died. 

How crashed the towers before beleaguering foes, 
Sacked cities smoked and realms were rent in twain 

And commonwealths against their rivals rose, 

Trode out their lives and earned the curse of Cain 

While, in the noiseless air and hght that flowed 

Round yo ir fair brows, eternal Peace abode. 

Here pealed the impious hymn, and altar-ilam^ 
Rose to false gods, a dream-begotten throng, 

Jove, Bacchus, Pan, and earlier, fouler names ; 
While, as the unheediug ages passed along, 

Ye, from your station in the middle skies. 

Proclaimed the essential Goodness, strong and wise. 

In you the heart that sighs for freedom seeks 
Her image ; there the winds no barrier know, 

Clouds come and rest and leave your fairy peaks ; 
While even the immaterial Mind, below. 

And Thought, her winged offspring, chained by powesj 

Pine silently for the redeeming hour 



L84 LATER POEMB. 



EARTH. 

A MIDNIGHT black -vsdtli clouds is in the sky j 
[ seem to feel, upon my limbs, the weight 
Of its vast brooding shadow. All in vain 
Turns the tired eye in search of form ; no star 
Pierces the pitchy veil ; no ruddy blaze. 
From dwellings lighted by the cheerful hearth, 
Tinges the flowering summits of the grass. 
No sound of life is heard, no village hum. 
Nor measured tramp of footstep in the path. 
Nor rush of wing, while, on the breast of Earth, 
I lie and listen to her mighty voice : 
A voice of many tones — sent up from streams 
That wander through the gloom, from woods unseen 
Swayed by the sweeping of the tides of air. 
From rocky chasms where darkness dwells all day, 
And hollows of the great invisible hills, 
And sands that edge the ocean, stretching far 
Into the night — a melancholy sound 1 

Earth ! dost thou too sorrow for the past 
Like man thy offspring ? Do I hear thee mourn 
Thy childhood's unreturning hours, thy springs 
Gone with their genial airs and melodies, 
The gentle generations of thy flowers. 
And thy majestic groves of olden time, 
Perished with all their dwellers ? Dost thou wail 
For that fair age of which the poets tell. 
Ere yet the winds grew keen with frost, or fire 
Fell with the rains, or spouted from the hills, 
To blast thy greenness, while the virgin night 
Was guiltless and salubrious as the day? 
Or hjiply dost thou griev^e for those that die — 



KAETH. 185 

« 
for living things tbat trod thy paths awhile, 
The love of thee and heaven — and now they sleep 
Mixed with the shapeless dust on which thy herds 
Trample and graze? I too must grieve with thee, 
O'er loved ones lost. Their graves are far away 
Upon thy mountains ; yet, while I recline 
Alone, in darkness, on thy naked soil, 
The mighty nourisher and burial-place 
Of man, I feel that I embrace their dust. 

Ha ! how the murmur deepens 1 I perceive 
And tremble at its dreadful import. Earth 
Uplifts a general cry for guilt and wrong, 
And heaven is listening. The forgotten grai eg 
Of the heart-broken utter forth their plaint 
The dust of her who loved and was betrayed. 
And him who died neglected in his age ; 
The sepulchres of those who for mankind 
Labored, and earned the recompense of scorn ; 
Ashes of martyrs for the truth, and bones 
Of those who, in the strife for liberty. 
Were beaten down, their corses given to dogs, 
Their names to infamy, all find a voice. 
The nook in which the captive, overtoiled, 
Lay down to rest at last, and that which holds 
Childhood's sweet blossoms, crushed by cruel hands, 
Send up a plaintive sound. From battle-fields, 
Where heroes madly drave and dashed their hosts 
Against each other, rises up a noise. 
As if the armed multitudes of dead 
Stirred in their heavy slumber. Mournful tones 
Come from the green abysses of the sea — 
A story of the crimes the guilty sought 
To hide beneath its waves. The glens, the groves, 
Paths in the thicket, pools of running brook, 
And banks and depths of lake, and streets and lanef 
Of cities, now that living sounds are hushed, 
Murmur of guilty force and lioachfry. 



186 LATEK POEMS. 

Here, where I rest, the vales of Italy 
A.re round me, populous fiom early time, 
And field of the tremendous warfare waged 
Twixt good and evil Who, alas, shall dare 
Interpret to man's ear the mingled voice 
That comes from her old dungeons yawning now 
To the black air, her amphitheatres. 
Where the dew gathers on the mouldering stones, 
And fanes of banished gods, and open tombs, 
And roofless palaces, and streets and hearths 
Of cities dug from their volcanic graves? 
I hear a sound of many languages. 
The utterance of nations now no more. 
Driven out by mightier, as the days of heaven 
Chase one another from the sky. The blood 
Of freemen shed by freemen, till strange lords 
Came in their hour of weakness, and made fast 
The yoke that yet is worn, cries out to Heaven, 

What then shall cleanse thy bosom, gentle Earth 
From all its painful memories of guilt ? 
The whelming flood, or the renewing fire. 
Or the slow change of time? that so, at last, 
The horrid tale of perjury and strife, 
Murder and spoil, which men call history, 
May seem a fable, like the inventions told 
By poets of the gods of Greece. thou, 
Who sittest far beyond the Atlantic deep. 
Among the sources of thy glorious streams, 
My native Land of Groves 1 a newer page 
In the great record of the world is thine ; 
Shall it be fairer ? Fear, and friendly hope, 
And envy, watch the issue, while the lines, 
By which thou shalt be judged, are written dowa 



THE knight's epitaph. 187 



THE KNIGHT'S EPITAPH. 

llfls is the church which Pisa, great and free 
Rcaiv^dto St. Catharine. How the time-stained walla 
Tiixt earthquakes shook not frcm their poise, appear 
To shiver in the deep and voluble tones 
Rolled from the organ . Underneath my feet 
There lies the lid of a sepulchral vault. 
The image of an armed knight is graven 
Upon it, clad in perfect panoply — 
Cuishes, and greaves, and cuirass, with barred helm 
Gauntleied hand, and sword, and blazoned shield. 
Around, in Gothic characters, worn dim 
By feet of worshippers, are traced his name, 
And birth, and death, and words of eulogy. 
Why should I pore upon them ? This old tomb, 
This efBgy, the strange disused form 
Of this inscription, eloquently show 
His history. Let me clothe in fitting words 
The thoughts they breathe, and frame his epitaph 

'* He whose forgotten dust for centuries 
Has lain beneath this stone, was one in whom 
Adventure, and endurance, and emprise 
Exalted the mind's faculties and strung 
The body's sinews. Brave he was in fight, 
Courteous in banquet, scornful of repose, 
And bountiful, and cruel, and devout. 
And quick to draw the sword in private feud. 
He pushed his quarrels to the death, yet prayed 
The saints as fervently on bended knees 
A,8 ever shaven cenobite. He loved 
A.a fiercely as he fought. He would have borne 



188 LATEK POEMS. 

The maid that pleased him from her bower by night 

To his hill-castle, as the eagle bears 

His victim from the fold, and rolled the rocks 

On his pursiieiu He aspired to see 

His native Pisa queen and arbitress 

^)f cities : earnestly for her he raised 

His voice in council, and affronted death 

In battle-field, and climbed the galley's deck, 

And brought the captured flag of Genoa back. 

Or piled upon the Arno's crowded quay 

riie glittering spoils of the tamed Saracen. 

He was not born to brook the stranger's yoke, 

But would have joined the exiles that withdrew 

For ever, when the Florentine broke in 

The gates of Pisa, and bore off the bolts 

For trophies — but he died before that day 

** He lived, the impersonation of an age 
That never shall return. His soul of fire 
Was kindled by the breath of the rude time 
He lived in. Now a gentler race succeeds, 
Shuddering at blood ; the effeminate cavalier. 
Turning his eyes from the reproachful past, 
And from the hopeless future, gives to ease, 
Ind love, and music, his inglorious life." 



THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIEa 

Ay, this is freedom! — these pure skies 
Were never stained with village smoke : 

The fragrant wind, that through them flies, 
Is bioathed from wastes by plough unbroke 



THE HUNTEE OF THE PEAIEIK6. 16fi 

Here, witL my rifle and my steed, 
And her who left the world for me, 

I plant me, where the red deer feed 
In the green desert — and am free. 

For here the fair savannas know 

No barriers in the bloomy grass ; 
Wherever breeze of heaven may blow, 

Or beam of heaven may glance, I pasa 
In pastures, measureless as air, 

The bison is my noble game ; 
Tiie bounding elk, whose antlers tear 

The branches, falls before my aim. 

Mine are the river-fowl that scream 

From the long stripe of waving sedge ; 
The bear that mai'ks my weapon's gleam, 

Hides vainly in the forest's edge ; 
In vain the she- wolf stands at bay ; 

The brinded catamount, that lies 
High in the boughs to watch his prey. 

Even in the act of springing, dies. 

With what free growth the elm and plane 

Fling their huge arms across my way, 
Gray, old, and cumbered with a train 

Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray I 
Free stray the lucid streams, and find 

No taint in these fresh lawns and shades ; 
Free spring the flowers that scent the wind 

Where never scythe has swept the gladea 

Alone the Fire, when frost-winds sere 
Tlie heavy herbage of the ground. 

Gathers his annual harvest here. 
With roaring like the battle's sound. 



i9J 



LATEE POEMS. 



And huriying flames that sweep the plain, 
And smoke-streams gushing up the sky : 

I meet the flames with flames again, 
And at my door they cower and die. 

Here, from dim woods, the aged past 

Speaks solemnly ; and I behold 
The boundless future in the vast 

And lonely river, seaward rolled. 
Who feeds its founts with rain and dew 

Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass, 
And trains the bordering vines, whose biu« 

Bright clusters tempt me as I pass ? 

Broad are these streams — my steed obeys, 

Plunges, and bears me through the tide. 
Wide are these woods — I thread the maze 

Of giant stems, nor ask a guide. 
I hunt till day's last gUmmer dies 

O'er woody vale and grassy height ; 
And kind the voice and glad the eyes 

That welcome my return at night 



SEVENTY-SIX. 



What heroes from the woodland sprung, 

When, through the fresh awakened land 
The thrilling cry of freedom rung, 
And to the work of warfare strung 
The yeoman's iron hand 1 



SEVENTY-SIX. 19J 

Hills fluBg the cry to hills aroimd, 

And ocean-mart replied to mart, 
And streams, whose springs were yet unfoiind, 
Pealed far away the startling sound 

Into the forest's heart. 

Then marched the brave from rocky steep, 

From mountain river swift and cold; 
The borders of the stormy deep, 
The vales where gathered waters sleep, 
Sent up the strong and bold, — 

As if the very earth again 

Grew quick with God's creating breath, 
And, from the sods of grove and glen, 
Rose ranks of lion-hearted men 

To battle to the death. 

The wife, whose babe first smUed that day 

The fair fond bride of yestereve, 
And aged sire and matron gray, 
Saw the loved warriors haste away. 

And deemed it sin to grieve. 

Already had the strife begun ; 

Already blood, on Concord's plain, 
Along the springing grass had run. 
And blood had flowed at Lexington, 

Like brooks of April rain. 

That death-stain on the vernal sward 
Hallowed to freedom aU the shore ; 

In fragments fell the yoke abhorred-* 

The footstep of a foreign lord 
Profaned the soil no icor€t 



192 LATE£ POBMB. 



THE LIVING LOST 

Matron 1 the children of whose love, 

Each to his grave, in youth have passed, 
And now the mould is heaped above 

The dearest and the last 1 
Bride 1 who dost wear the widow's veil 
Before the wedding flowers are pale ! 
Ye deem the human heart endures 
No deeper, bitterer grief than yours. 

Yet there are pangs of keener wo, 

Of which the sufferers never speak. 
Nor to the world's cold pity show 
The tears that scald the cheek. 
Wrung from their eyelids by the shame 
And guilt of those they shrink to name. 
Whom once they loved with cheerful will, 
And love, though fallen and branded, still 

Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead, 

Thus breaking hearts their pain relieve 
And reverenced are the tears ye shed, 

And honored ye who grieve. 
The praise of those who sleep in earth, 
The pleasant memory of their worth, 
The hope to meet when life is past. 
Shall heal the tortured mind at last. 

But ye, who for the living lost 

That agony in secret bear. 
Who shall with soothing words accost 

The strength of your despair I 



OATTEESKILL FALLS. 193 

Grief for your sake is scorn for them 
Whom ye lament and all condemn ; 
And o'er the world of spirits lies 
A gloom from which ye turn your eyea 



' CATTERSKILL FALLS. 

Midst greens and shades the Catterskill leaps. 
From cliifs where the wood-flower clings ; 

All summer he moistens his verdant steeps 
With the sweet light spray of the mountain springs 

And he shakes the woods on the mountain side, 

When they drip with the rains of autumn-tide. 

But when, in the forest bare and old, 

The blast of December calls, 
He builds, in the starlight clear and cold, 

A palace of ice where his torrent falls. 
With turret, and arch, and fretwork fair, 
And pillars blue as the sununer air. 

For whom are those glorious chambers wrought, 

In the cold and cloudless night ? 
h there neither spirit nor motion of thought 

In forms so lovely, and hues so bright ? 
Hear what the gray-haired woodmen tell 
Of this wild stream and its rocky delL 

"Twas hither a youth of dreamy mood, 

A hundred winters ago, 
Had wandered over the mighty wood. 

When the panther's track was fresh on the snow, 
&.nd keen were the winds that came to stir 
The long dark boughs of the bemlock fir. 

13 



(94 LATER POEMS. 

Too gentle of mien he seemed and fair, 
For a child of those rugged steeps ; 

His home lay low in the valley where 
The kingly Hudson rolls to the deeps ; 

But he wore the hunter's frock that day, 

Ajid a slender gun on his shoulder lay. 

A.nd here he paused, and against the trunk 

Of a tall gray linden leant, 
When the broad clear orb of the sun nad sunk 

From his path in the frosty firmament, 
A.nd over the round dark edge of the hill 
A cold green light was quivering stilL 

And the crescent moon, high over the green, 

From a sky of crimson shone, 
On that icy palace, whose towers were seen 

To spai'kle as if with stars of their own ; 
While the water fell with a hollow sound, 
'Twixt the glistening pillars ranged around. 

is that a being of life, that moves 
Where the crystal battlements rise? 

A maiden watching the moon she loves. 
At the twilight hour, with pensive eyes ? 

Was that a garment which seemed to gleam 

Betwixt the eye and the falling stream ? 

Tis only the torrent tumbling o'er. 
In the midst of those glassy walls. 

Gushing, and plunging, and beating the floor 
Of the rocky basin in which it fulls. 

Tis only the torrent — but why that start? 

Why gazes the youth with a throbbing heart I 

He thinks no more of his home afar, 

Where his sire and sister wait. 
He heeds no longer how star after star 



0ATTER8KILL FALLS. 196 

Looks forth on the night as the hour grows late 
He heeds not the snow-wreaths, lifted and cast 
From a thousand boughs, by the rising blast. 

His thoughts are alone of those who dwell 

In the halls of frost and snow, 
Who pass where the crystal domes upswell 

From the alabaster floors below, 
Where the frost-trees shoot with leaf and spray, 
And frost-gems scatter a silvery day. 

" And oh that those glorious haunts were mine f " 

He speaks, and throughout the glen 
Thin shadows swim in the faint moonshine. 

And take a ghastly likeness of men, 
i.s if the slain by the wintry storms 
Came forth to the air in their earthly forms. 

There pass the chasers of seal and whale, 
With their weapons quaint and grim, 

And bands of warriors in glittering mail, 
And herdsmen and hunters huge of limb. 

There are naked arms, with bow and spear, 

And furry gauntlets the carbine rear. 

There are mothers — and oh how sadly their ej ea 
On their children's white brows rest I 

There are youthful lovers — the maiden lies, 
In a seeming sleep, on the chosen breast ; 

There are fair wan women with moonstruck air, 

The snow-stars flecking their long loose hair 

rhey eye him not as they pass along, 

But his hair stands up with dread. 
When he feels that he moves with that phantoir throng 

TiU those icy turrets are over his head. 
And the torrent's roar as they enter seems 
tike a drowsy murmur heard in dreams. 



196 LiTEit POKMB. 

rhe glittering threshold is scarcely passed, 
When there gathers and wraps him round 

A thick white twilight, sullen and vast, 
In which th;re is neither form nor sound; 

The phantoms, the glory, vanish all, 

With the dying voice of the waterfalL 

Slow passes the darkness of that trance, 

And the youth now faintly sees 
Huge shadows and gushes of light that dance 

On a rugged ceiling of unhewn trees, 
And walls where the skins of beasts are hung, 
And rifles glitter on antlers strung. 

On a couch of shaggy skins he lies ; 

As he strives to raise his head. 
Hard-featured woodmen, with kindly eyes. 

Come round him and smooth his furry bed. 
And bid him rest, for the evening star 
Is scarcely set and the day is far. 

rhey had found at eve the dreaming one 

By the base of that icy steep. 
When over his stiffening limbs begun 

The deadly slumber of frost to creep, 
\nd they cherished the pale and breathless ftm 
IHll the Ptacrnant blood ran free and warm. 



THE STltANGE LADY. 197 



THE STRANGE LADY 

Tbe summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds ar% 
darting by, 

As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the 
cool clear sky ; 

Young Albert, in the forest's edge, h&e heard a rust- 
ling sound. 

An arrow slightly strikes his hand and falls upon the 
ground. 

A dark-haired woman from the wood comes suddenly 

in sight ; 
Her merry eye is full and black, her cheek is brown 

and bright ; 
Her gown is of the mid-sea blue, her belt with beads 

is strung. 
And yet she speaks in gentle tones, and in the Eng 

lish tongue. 

" It was an idle bolt I sent, against the villain crow; 

Fair sir, I fear it harmed thy hand ; beshrew my err- 
ing bow ! " 

"Ahl would that bolt had not been spent I tlieu, 
lady, might I wear 

A lasting token on my hand of one so passing fair 1 " 

" Thou art a flatterer like the rest, but wouldst thot» 
take with me 

A day of hunting in the wilds, beneath the green- 
wood tree, 

I know where most the pheasants feed, and whew 
the red deer herd. 

And thou shouldst chase the nobler game, and I 
bring down the bird." 



198 LATEE POEMS. 

N^ow Albert in her quiver lays the arrow in its place^ 

And wonders as he gazes on the beauty of hor face : 
•* Those hunting-grounds are far away, and, lady, 

'twere not meet 
That night, amid the wilderness, should overtake thy 

feet." 

"Heed not the night; a summer lodge amid the wild 

is mine, — 
Tis shadowed by the tiilip-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine ; 
The wild plum sheds its yellow fruit from fragrant 

thickets nigh, 
And flowery prairies from the door stretch till they 

meet the sky. 

" There in the boughs that hide the roof the mock* 
bird sits and sings, 

And there the hang-bird's brood within its little ham- 
mock swings ; 

A pebbly brook, where rustling winds among the 
hopples sweep. 

Shall luU thee till the morning sun looks in upon thy 
sleep." 

Away, into the forest depths by pleasant paths they go, 
He with his rifle on his arm, the lady with her bow. 
Where cornels arch their cool dark boughs o'er beda 

of winter-green, 
And never at his father's door again was Albert seen. 

That night upon the woods came down a furious hur- 
ricane, 

With howl of winds and roar of streams, and beating 
of the rain ; 

rh« mighty thunder broke and drowned the noises ir 
its crash ; 

rhe old trees seemed to fight like fiends beneath th# 
lightning-fllash. 



LIFE. 199 

Ifext day, "within a mossy glen, 'mid mouldering ti-unka 

were found 
The fragments of a human form upon the bloody 

ground ; 
Wliite bones from which the flesh was torn, and locks 

of glossy hair ; 
They laid them in the place of graves, yet wist not 

whose they were. 

And whether famished evening wolves had mangled 
Albert so, 

Or that strange dame so gay and fair were some mys- 
terious foe. 

Or whether to that forest lodge, beyond the moun 
tains blue, 

He went to dwell with her, the friends who mourned 
him never knew. 



LIFE. 

Oh Life I I breathe thee in the breeze, 
I feel thee bounding in my veins, 

1 see thee in these stretching trees. 
These flowers, this still rock's mossy stains. 

This stream of odors flowing by 

From clover-field and clumps of pine, 

ITiis music, thrilling all the sky, 
From all the morning birds, are thine. 

Thou fill'st with joy this little one. 
That leaps and shouts beside me here. 

Where Isar's clay-white rivulets run 
Through the dark woods like frighted deur 



200 LATER POEMB. 

Ahl must thy mighty breath, that wakea 
Insect and bird, and flower and tree, 

From the low trodden dust, and makes 
Their daily gladness, pass from me — 

Pass, pulse by pulse, till o'er the ground 
These limbs, now strong, shall creep with patu 

And this fair world of sight and sound 
Seem fading into night again ? 

The things, oh Life! thou quickenest, all 
Strive upward towards the broad bright sky, 

Upward and outward, and they fall 
Back to earth's bosom when they die. 

All that have borne the touch of death 
All that shall live, lie mingled there, 

Beneath that veil of bloom and breath, 
That living zone 'twLxt earth and air. 

There lies my chamber dark and still. 

The atoms trampled by my feet. 
There wait, to take the place I fiU 

In the sweet air and sunshine sweet. 



Well, I have had my turn, have been 
Raised from the darkness of the clod, 

And for a glorious moment seen 
The brightness of the skirts of God ; 

And knew the light within my breast, 
Though wavering oftentimes and dini 

Hie power, the will, that never rest. 
And cannot die, were all from him 



"eaeth's ouildeen cleave to eaeth.'' 201 

Dear child ! I know that thou wilt grieve 

To see me taken from thy love, 
Wilt seek my grave at Sabbath eve 

And weep, and scatter flowers above. 

riiy little heart will soon be healed, 

And being shall be bliss, till thou 
To younger forms of life must yield 

The place thou fill'st with beauty now. 

When we descend to dust agam. 

Where will the final dwelling be 
Of thought and all its memoiies then, 

My love for thee, and thine for me ? 



EAETH'S CHILDREN CLEAVE TO EARTH,' 

% 

Earth's children cleave to Earth — her frail 

Decaying children dread decay. 
Yon wreath of mist that leaves the vale, 

And lessens in the morning ray : 
Look, how, by mountain rivulet. 

It lingers as it upward creeps, 
And clings to fern and eopsewood set 

Along the green and dewy steeps : 
Clings to the flowery kalmia, clings 

To precipices fringed with grass, 
Dark maples where the wood-thrush sings, 

And bowers of fragrant sassafras. 
Yet aU in vain — it passes still 

From hold to hold, it cannot stay, 
And in the very beams that fill 

The world with glory, wastes away, 



202 LAIER POEMS. 

Till, partiug from the mountain's brow^ 
It vanishes from human eye, 

And that which sprung of earth is no-« 
A portion of the glorious sky. 



THE HUNTER'S VISION 

Upon a rock that, high and sheer. 
Rose from the mountain's breast. 

A weary hunter of the deer 
Had sat him down to rest, 

And bared to the soft summer air 

His hot red brow and sweaty hair. 

All dim in haze the mountains lay, 
With dimmer vales between ; 

And rivers glimmered on their way, 
By foi-ests faintly seen ; 

While ever rose a murmuring sound, 

From brooks below and bees around. 

He listened, till he seemed to hear 

A strain, so soft and low. 
That whether in the mind or ear 

The listener scarce might know. 
With such a tone, so sweet, so mild, 
The watching mother lulls her child. 

■' Thou weary huntsman," thus it said, 
" Thou faint with toil and heat, 
The pleasant land of rest is spread 

Before thy very feet, 
And those whom thou wouldst gladly mc 
Are waiting there tc welcome thee." 



THE HUTSTTEk's VISION. 208 

He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky 

Amid the noontide haze, 
A shadowy region met his eye, 

And grew beneath his gaze, 
As if the vapors of the air 
Had gathered into shapes so fair. 

Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers 

Showed bright on rocky bank, 
A.nd fountains welled beneath the bowers 

Where deer and pheasant drank. 
He saw the glittering streams, he heard 
The rustling bough and twittering bird. 

And friends, the dead, in boyhood dear 

There lived and walked again, 
A.nd there was one who many a year 

Within her grave had lain, 
A fair young girl, the hamlet's pride — 
His heart was breaking when she died : 

Bounding, as was her wont, she came 

Right towards his resting-place, 
And stretched her hand and called his name 

With that sweet smiling face. 
Forward with fixed and eager eyes. 
The hunter leaned in act to rise : 

Forward he leaned, and headlong down 

Plunged from that craggy wall; 
He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown, 

An instant, in his fall ; 
A frightful instant — and no more, 
The dream and life at once were o'er. 



204 LATEK POEXS. 



THE GREEN MOUNTAIN bOYft 



Here halt we our march, and pitch our tent 

On the rugged forest ground, 
And light our fire with the branches rent 

By winds from the beeches round. 
Wild storms have torn this ancient wood. 

But a wilder is at hand, 
With hail of iron and rain of blood. 

To sweep and waste the land. 

n. 

How the dark wood rings with voices shrill, 

That startle the sleeping bird ; 
To-raorrow eve must the voice be still, 

And the step must fall unheard. 
The Briton lies by the blue Chainplain, 

In Ticonderoga's towers, 
And ere the sun rise twice again. 

Must they and the lake be ours. 

m. 

Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides 

"Where the fire-flies light the brake ; 
A ruddier juice the Briton hides 

In his fortj'ess by the lake. 
Build high the fire, till the panther leap 

From his lofty perch in flight, 
And we'll strengthen our weary arms with sleep 

For the deeds of to-morrow night 



A PEE8KNTIMKNT. 306 



A PRESENTIMENT 

* Oh father, let us hence — ^for hark, 
A fearful murmur shakes the air ; 

The clouds are coming swift and dark; — 
"What horrid shapes they wear 1 

A winged giant sails the sky ; 

Oh father, father, let us flyl " 

'' Hush, child ; it is a grateful sound, 
That beating of the summer shower ; 
Here, where the boughs hang close around 

We'll pass a pleasant hour, 
Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain, 
Has swept the broad heaven clear again." 

' Nay, father, let us naste — for see, 

That horrid thing with horned brow,— 
His wings o'erhaug this very tree, 

He scowls upon us now ; 
His huge black arm is lifted high ; 
Oh father, father, let us flyl " 

' Hush, child ; " but, as the father spoke, 
Downward the livid firebolt came, 
Close to his ear the thunder broke, 

And, blasted by the flame. 
The ehUd lay dead ; while dark and still. 
Swept the grim cloud along the hill 



206 LATEB POKMB. 



THE CHILD'S FUNERAL. 

Fair is thy sight, Sorrento, green thy shore, 
Black crags behind thee pierce the clear blue skied 

The sea, whose borderers ruled the world of yore. 
As clear and bluer still before thee lies. 

V^esuvius smokes in sight, whose fount of fire, 
Outgushing, drowned the cities on his steeps ; 

And murmuring Naples, spire o'ertopping spire. 
Sits on the slope beyond where Virgil sleeps 

Here doth the earth, with flowers of every hue. 
Heap her green breast when April suns are bright 

Flowers of the morning-red, or ocean-blue, 
Or like the mountain frost of silvery white. 

Currents of fragrance, from the orange tree, 
And sward of violets, breathing to and fro, 

Mingle, and wandering out upon the sea, 
Refresh the idle boatsman where they blow 

Yet even here, a? under harsher climes. 
Tears for the loved and early lost are shed ; 

That soft air saddens with the funeral chimes, 
Those shining flowers are gathered for the dead 

Here once a child, a smiling playful one, 
All the day long caressing and caressed. 

Died when its little tongue had just begun 
To lisp the names of those it loved the best 



THE child's funeeal. 207 

The father strove his struggling grief to quell, 
The mother wept as mothers use to weep. 

Two little sisters wearied them to tell 
When their dear Carlo would awake from sleeps 

Within an inner room his couch they spread, 
His fimei al couch ; with mingled grief and love, 

fhey laid a crown of roses on his head. 
And murmured, " Brighter is his crown above.** 

They scattered round him, on the snowy sheet, 
Laburnum's strings of sunny-colored gems. 

Sad hyacinths, and violets dim and sweet. 

And oiange-blossoms on their dark green stems. 

And now the hour is come, the priest is there; 

Torches are lit and bells are tolled ; they go, 
With solemn rites of blessing and of prayer, 

To lay the little one in earth below. 

The door is opened ; hark ! that quick glad cry ; 

Carlo has waked, has waked, and is at play ; 
The little sisters laugh and leap, and try 

To climb the bed on which the infant lay. 

A na there he sits alive, and gayly shakes 
In his full hands, the blossoms red and white, 

l^nd smiles with winking eyes, like one who wake« 
Fi'om long de^p slumbers at the morning light. 



208 LATER PUEMS. 



THE BATTLE-FIELD 

Onok this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd 

And fiery hearts and armed hands 
Encountered in the battle-cloud 

Ah ! never shall the land forget 

How gushed the life-blood of her brave- 
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet. 
Upon the soil they fought to save. 

Now all is calm, and fresh, and still. 

Alone the chirp of flitting bird, 
And talk of children on the hill, 

And bell of wandering kine are heard. 

No solemn host goes trailing by 

The black-mouthed gun and staggering wail 
Men start not at the battle-cry, 

Oh, be it never heard again ! 

Soon rested those who fought ; but thou 
Who minglest in the harder strife 

For truths which men receive not now. 
Thy warfare only ends with life. 

A friendless warfare 1 lingering h ng 
Through weary day and weary year. 

A wild and many-weaponed throng 
flang on thy front, and flank, and rear. 



THE FTITTIEE LIFE. 201. 

Fet nerve thy spirit to the proof, 

And blench not at thy chosen lot. 
The timid good may stand aloof, 

The sage may frown — jet faint thou not 

Nor heed the shaft too snrely cast, 

The foul and hissing bolt of scorn ; 
For with thy side shaU dwell, at last, 

The victory of endurance born. 

Truth; crushed to earth, shall rise again ; 

The eternal years of God are hers ; 
But Error, wounded, writhes in pain 

And dies among his worshippers. 

Yea, though thou lie upon the dust. 

When they who helped thee flee in fear, 

Die fall of hope and manly trust, 
Like those who fell in battle here. 

Another hand thy sword shall wield, 

Another hand the standard wave. 
Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 

The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. 



THE FUTURE LIFE 

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keept 
The disembodied spirits of the dead. 

When all of thee that time could wither sleeps 
And perishes among the dust we tread t 
14 



210 LATEK rOEMS. 

For I sball feel the sting of ceaseless pain 
If there I meet thy geutle presence not ; 

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 
In thy sercnest eyes the tender thought. 

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there J 
That heart whose fondest throbs to me were giv 8i 

My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, 
And wilt thou never utter it in heaven ? 

In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind 
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, 

And larger movements of the unfettered mind, 
Wilt thou forget the love that joined \is here? 

The love that lived through all the stormy past, 
And meekly with my harsher nature boie. 

And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, 
Shall it expire with life, and be no more ? 

A happier lot than mine, and larger light, 
Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy will 

111 cheerful homage to the rule of right, 
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill 

For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell. 
Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll 

And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell 
Has left its frightful scar upon my souL 

Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, 
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, 

The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye. 
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same I 

Blialt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, 
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this— 

The wisdom which is love — till I become 
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss f 



THE DEATH OF SCHILLEE. 211 



THE DEATH OF SCHILLER. 

Tis said, when Schiller's death drew nigh, 
The wish possessed his mighty mind, 

To wander forth wherever lie 

The homes and haunts of human-kind. 

Then strayed the poet, in his dreams, 
By Rome and Egypt's ancient graves ; 

Went up the New World's forest streams, 
Stood in the Hindoo's temple-caves; 

Walked with the Pawnee, fierce and stark, 
The sallow Tai-tar, midst his herds, 

The peering Chinese, and the dark 
False Malay uttering gentle words. 

How could he rest? even then he trod 
The threshold of the world unknown ; 

Already, from the seat of God, 

A ray upon his garments shone ; — 

Shone and awoke the strong desire 

For love and knowledge reached not lies^f; 

im, freed by death, hia soul of fire 
Sprang to a fairer, ampler sphere^ 



212 LATEB POEMB. 



THE FOUNTAIN. 

Fountain, that springes! on this grassy 8lop«, 
Thy quick cool murmur mingles pleasautlj'', 
With the cool sound of breezes in the beech, 
Abov« me in the noontide. Thou dost wear 
No stain of thy dark birthplace ; gushing up 
From the red mould and slimy roots of earth, 
Thou flashest in the sun. The mountain air, 
In winter, is not clearer, nor the dew 
That shines on mountain blossom. Thus doth God 
Bring, from the dark and foul, the pure and bright 

This tangled thicket on the bank above 
Thy basin, how thy waters keep it green ! 
For thou dost feed the roots of the wild vine 
That trails all over it, and to the twigs 
Ties fast her clusters. There the spice-bush lifts 
Her leafy lances ; the viburnum there, 
Paler of foliage, to the sun holds up 
Her circlet of green berries. In and out 
The chipping sparrow, in her coat of brown, 
Steals silently, lest I should mark her nest 

Not such thou wert of yore, ere yet the axe 
Had smitten the old woods. Then hoary trunkg 
Of oak, and plane, and hickory, o'er thee held 
A mighty canopy. When April winds 
Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush 
Of scarlet flowers. The tulip-tree, high up, 
Opened, in airs of June, her multitude 
Of golden chalices to humming-birds 
Ajid silken-winged insects of the sky. 



THE FOUNTAIN. 218 

Frail wood-plants clustered round thy edge in Spring 
The liverleaf put forth her sister blooms 
Of faintest blue. Here the quick-footed wolf, 
Passing to lap thy waters, crushed the flower 
Of sanguinaria, from whose brittle stem 
The red drops fell like blood. The deer, too, left 
Her delicate foot-print in the soft moist mould. 
And on the fallen leaves. The slow-paced bear, 
In such a sultry summer noon as this, 
Stopped at thy stream, and drank, and leaped across. 

But thou hast histories that stir the heart 
With deeper feeling ; while I look on thee 
They rise before me. I behold the scene 
Hoary again with forests; I behold 
The Indian warrior, whom a hand unseen 
Has smitten with his death-wound in the woods. 
Creep slowly to thy well-known rivulet, 
And slake his death-thirst. Hark, that quick fierce cr'« 
That rends the utter silence ; 'tis the whoop 
Of battle, and a throng of savage men 
With naked arms and faces stained like blood, 
Fill the green wilderness ; the long bare arms 
Are heaved aloft, bows twang and arro ,rs stream ; 
Each makes a tree his shield, and every tree 
Sends forth its arrow. Fierce the fight and short, 
As is the whirlwind. Soon the conquerors 
And conquered vanish, and the dead remain 
Mangled by tomahawks. The mighty woods 
Are still again, the frighted bird comes back 
Aaid plumes her wings ; but thy sweet waters run 
Crimson with blood. Then, as the sun goes down, 
Amid the deepening twilight I descry 
Figures of men that crouch and creep unheard, 
And bear away the dead. The next day's shower 
Shall wash the tokens of the fight away. 



214 LATER POEMS. 

I look again — a liimter's lodge is built, 
With poles and boughs, beside thy crystal well. 
While, the meek autumn stains the woods with geld 
And sheds his goldeii sunshine. To the door 
The red man slowly drags the enormous bear 
Slain in the chestnut thicket, or flings down 
The deer from his strong shoulders. Shaggy fells 
( '»f wolf and cougar hang upon the walls, 
And loud the black-eyed Indian maidens laugh, 
That gather, from the rustling heaps of leaves, 
Tlie hickory's white nuts, arid the dark fruit 
That falls from the gray butternut's long boughs. 

So centuries passed by, and still the woods 
Blossomed in spring, and reddened when the year 
Grew chill, and glistened in the frozen rains 
Of winter, till the white man swung the axe 
Beside thee — ^signal of a mighty change. 
Then all around was heard the crash of trees. 
Trembling awhile and rushing to the ground, 
The low of ox, and shouts of men who fired 
Tlie brushwood, or who tore the earth with ploughs 
Tbe grain sprang thick and tall, and hid in green 
Tlie blackened hill-side ; ranks of spiky maize 
Rose like a host embattled ; the buekwheac 
Wliitened broad acres, sweetening with its flowers 
The August wind. White cottages were seen 
With i-ose-trees at the windows ; barns from which 
Came h^ud and shrill the crowing of the cock ; 
Pastures where rolled and neighed the lordly horse, 
And white flocks browsed and bleated. A rich turf 
Of grasses brought from far o'ercrept thy bank. 
Spotted with the white clover. Blue-eyed girls 
Brought pails, and dij»ped them in thy crystal pa.>l; 
And children, ruddy-cheeked and flaxen-haired, 
Gathered the glistening cowslip from thy edge. 

Since tlien, what steps have trod thy border I Hor« 
On thy green bank, the woodman of tiie swamp 



THE FOUNTAIN. 215 

Has laid his axe, the reaper of the hill 

His sickle, as they stooped to taste thy stieam. 

The sportsman, tired with wandering in the still 

September noon, has bathed his heated brow 

In thy cool current. Shouting boys, let loose 

For a wild holiday, have quaintly shaped 

Into a cup the folded linden leaf, 

And dipped thy sliding crystal. From the wars 

Returning, the plumed soldier by thy side 

Has sat, and mused how pleasant 'twere to dwell 

In such a spot, and be as free as thou, 

And move for no man's bidding more. At eve. 

When thou wert crimson with the crimson sky. 

Lovers have gazed upon thee, and have thought 

Their mingled lives should flow as peacefully 

And brightly as thy waters. Here the sage, 

Gazing into thy self-replenished depth. 

Has seen eternal order circumscribe 

And bind the motions of eternal change, 

And from the gushing of thy simple fount 

Has reasoned to the mighty universe. 

Is there no other change for thee, that lurks 
Among the future ages? Will not man 
Seek out strange arts to wither and deform 
The pleasant landscape which thou makest greea \ 
Or shall the veins that feed thy constant stream 
Be choked in middle earth, and flow no more 
For ever, that the water-plants along 
TTiy channel perish, and the bird in vain 
Alight to drink? Haply shall these green hills 
Sink, with the lapse of years, into the gulf 
Of ocean waters, and thy source be lost 
Amidst the bitter brine ? Or shall they rise, 
Upheaved in broken chfife and airy peaks, 
Haunts of the eagle and the snake, and thou 
Gruah midway from the bare and barren steep f 



016 LATSB POEMS. 



THE WINDS 



V K winds, ye unseen currents of the air, 
Softly ye played a few brief hours ago ; 

Ve bore the murmuring bee; ye tossed the hair 
J cr maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow ; 

V e rolled the round white cloud through dej)thsof blue- 
Ve shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew; 
Before you the catalpa's blossoms flew, 

Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow. 

n. 

ilow are ye changed 1 Ye take the cataract's sound 
Ye take the whirlpool's fury and its might ; 

Tl.e mountain shudders as ye sweep the ground; 
The valley woods lie prone beneath your flight. 

Tae clouds before you shoot like eagles past; 

Ihe homes of men are rocking in your blast; 

S'e lift the roofs like autiumn leaves, and cast. 
Skyward, the whirling fragments out of sight* 

m. 

The weary fowls of heaven make wing in vain, 

To escape your wrath ; ye seize and dash them dead 
Against the earth ye drive the roaring rain; 

The harvest-field becomes a rivei-'s bed ; 
And torrents tumble from the hills around, 
plains turn to lakes, and villages are drowned, 
^nd wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound, 
Rise, as th^ rushing waters swell and spread. 



THE wracs. 217 



IV 



Ye dart upon the deep, and straight is heard 
A wilder roar, and men grow pale, and pray ; 

Ye fling its floods aronnd you, as a bird 
Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spra) 

See 1 to the breaking mast the sailor clings ; 

Ye scoop the ocean to its briny springs, 

A,nd take the mountain billow on your wings, 
And pile the wreck of navies round the bay. 

V. 

Why rage ye thus ? — no strife for liberty 
Has made you mad ; no tyrant, strong through fear. 

Has chained your pinions till ye wrenched them free, 
And rushed into the unmeasured atmosphere ; 

For ye were born in freedom where ye blow ; 

Free o'er the mighty deep to come and go ; 

Earth's solemn woods were yours, her wastes of snow 
Her isles where summer blossoms all the year. 

ye wild winds I a mightier Power than yours 

In chains upon the shore of Europe lies ; 
The sceptred throng, whose fetters he endures. 

Watch his mute throes with terror in their eyes : 
And armed warriors aU around him stand, 
A.nd, as he struggles, tighten every band, 
\nd lift the heavy spear, with threatening hand, 
To pierce the victim, should he strive to rise.. 

vn. 

Vet oh, when that wronged Spirit of our race 
Shall break, as soon he must, his long-worn cnaioA 

And leap in freedom from his prison-place. 
Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains. 



218 LA.TEE POEMS. 

Let him not rise, like these mad wmds of air, 
To waste the loveliness that time could spare, 
To fill the earth with wo, and blot her fair 

Unconscious breast with blood from human vfici; 

vm. 

But may he like the spring-time come abroad, 

Who crumbles winter's gyves with gentle might, 
WTien in the genial breeze, the breath of God, 

Come spouting up the unsealed springs to light ; 
Flowers start from their dark prisons at his feet, 
The woods, long dumb, awake to hymnings sweet. 
And morn and eve, whose glimmerings almost meet 
Crowd back to narrow bounds the ancieat night 



THE OLD MAN'S COUNSEL. 

Among our hills and valleys, I have known 
Wise and grave men, who, while their diligent hand. 
Tended or gathered in the fruits of earth. 
Were reverent learners in the solemn school 
Of nature. Not in vain to them were sent 
Seed-time and harvest, or the vernal shower 
That <laikened the brown tilth, or snow that beat 
On the white winter hills. Each brought, in turn, 
Some truth, some lesson on the life of man, 
Or recognition of the Eternal mind 
Who veils his glory with the elements. 

One such I knew long since, a white-haired man. 
t*ithy of speech, and merry when he would ; 
A genial optimist, who daily drew 
From what he saw his quaint moralities. 



THE OLD man's COUNSEL. 21 S 

Kindly he held communion, though so old, 
With me a dreaming boy, and taught me much 
That books tell not, and I shall ne'er forget 

The sun of May was bright in middle heaven, 
And steeped the sprouting forests, the green hills 
And emerald wheat-fields, in his yellow light. 
Upon the apple-tree, where rosy buds 
Btood clustered, ready to burst forth in bloom, 
The robin warbled forth his full clear note 
For hours, and wearied not. Within the woods. 
Whose young and half transparent leaves scarce cast 
A shade, gay circles of anemones 
Danced on their stalks ; the shadbush, white with 

flowers. 
Brightened the glens ; the new-leaved butternut 
And quivering poplar to the roving breeze 
Gave a balsamic fragrance. In the fields 
I saw the pulses of the gentle wind 
On the young grass. My heart was touched with joy 
At so much beauty, flushing every hour 
Into a fuller beauty ; but my friend. 
The thoughtful ancient, standing at my side, 
Gazed on it mildly sad. I asked him why. 

'•' Well mayst thou join in gladness," he replied 
' With the glad earth, her springing plants and flowers. 
And this soft wind, the herald of the green 
Luxuriant summer. Thou art young like them. 
And well mayst thou rejoice. But while the flight 
Of seasons fills and knits thy spreading frame, 
It withers mine, and thins my hair, and dims 
These eyes, whose fading light shall soon be quencher! 
In utter darkness. Hearest thou that bird ? " 

I listened, and from midst the depth of wooda 
Heard the love-signal of the grouse, that wears 
A sable ruff" around his mottled neck ; 



820 LATER POEMS. 

Partridge they call him by our northern streanu^ 
And pheasant by the Delaware. He beat 
'Gainst his barred sides his speckled wings, and made 
A sound Hke distant thunder ; slow the strokes 
At first, then fast and faster, till at length 
They })assed into a murmur and were stilL 

" There hast thou," said my friend, " a fittmg typ« 
Of human life. 'Tis an old truth, I know. 
But images like these revive the power 
Of long familiar truths. Slow pass our days 
In childhood, and the hours of light are long 
Betwixt the morn and eve ; with swifter lapse 
They glide in manhood, and in age they fly ; 
Till days and seasons flit before the mind 
As flit the snow-flakes in a winter storm, 
ISeen rather than distinguished. Ah 1 I seem 
As if I sat within a helpless bark, 
By swiftly running waters hurried on 
To shoot some mighty cHffl Along the banks 
Grove after grove, rock after frowning rock, 
Bare sands and pleasant homes, and flowery nooks, 
And isles and whirlpools in the stream, appear 
Each after each, but the devoted skiffs 
Darts by so swiftly that their images 
Dwell not upon the mind, or only dwell 
In dim confusion ; faster yet I sweep 
By other banks, and the great gulf is near. 

" Wisely, my son, while yet thy days are long, 
And this fair change of seasons passes slow, 
Grather and treasure up the good they yield- 
All that they teach of virtue, of pure thoughts 
A.ud kind affections, reverence for thy God 
And for thy brethren ; so when thou shalt come 
Into these barren years, thou mayst not bring 
i mind unfurnished and a withered heart." 



IN MEMOEY OF WILLIAM LEQGrETT. 221 

Long since that white-haired ancient slept — but still, 
When the red flower-buds crowd the orchard bough, 
A.nd the ruffed grouse is drumming far within 
The woods, his venerable form again 
Je fit my side, his voice is in my ear. 



fN MEMORY OF WILLIAM LEGGETT. 

The earth may ring from shore to shore, 
With echoes of a glorious name. 

But he, whose loss our tears deplore. 
Has left behind him more than fame. 

For when the death-frost came to lie 
On Leggett's warm and mighty heart. 

And quenched his bold and friendly eye 
His sDirit did not all depart. 

The words of fire that from his pen 
"Were flung upon the fervent page. 

Still move, still shake the hearts of men 
Amid a cold and coward age. 

His love of truth, too warm, too strong 
For Hope or Fear to chain or chill. 

His hate of tyranny and wrong, 
Burn in the breasts he kindled stili 



i22 LATER POEMS. 



AN EVENING REVERY. 

The summer day is closed — the suu is set: 
Well they have done their office, those bright hours, 
The latest of whose train goes softly out 
[n the red West. The green blade of the ground 
Has risen, and herds have cropped it ; the young twig 
Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun ; 
Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown 
And withered; seeds have fallen upon the soil, 
From bursting cells, and in their graves await 
Their resurrection. Insects from the pools 
Have filled the air awhile with humming wings, 
That now are still for ever ; painted moths 
Have wandered the blue sky, and died again ; 
The mother-bird hath broken for her brood 
Their prison shell, or shoved them from the nest, 
Plumed for their earliest flight. In bright alcoves. 
In woodland cottages with barky walls, 
In noisome cells of the tumultuous town. 
Mothers have clasped with joy the new-born babe. 
Graves by the lonely forest, by the shore 
Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways 
Of the thronged city, have been hollowed out 
And filled, and closed. This day hath parted frieaj* 
That ne'er before were parted ; it hath knit 
New friendships ; it hath seen the maiden plight 
Her faith, and trust her peace to him who long 
Had wooed ; and it hath heard, from lips which lat« 
Were eloquent with love, the first harsh word, 
That told the wedded one her peace was flown. 
Farewell to the sweet sunshine ! One glad day 
[s added now to Childhood's merry days, 
A.nd one calm day to those of quiet Age. 



AN EVENKI G RETEET. 223 

Still the fleet hours ruu on ; and as I lean, 

Amid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit. 

By those who watch the dead, and those who twinw 

Flowers for the bride. The mother from the eyes 

Of her sick infant shades the painful light, 

And sadly Ustens to his quick-drawn breath 

Oh thou great Movement of the Universe, 
Or Chauge, or Flight of Time — for ye are one! 
That bearest, silently, this visible scene 
Into night's shadow and the streaming rays 
Of starlight, whither art thou bearing me ? 
I feel the mighty current sweep me on, 
Yet know not whither, Man foretells afar 
The courses of the stars ; the very hour 
He knows when they shall darken or grow bright; 
Yet doth the eclipse of Sorrow and of Death 
Come unforewarned. Who next, of those I love, 
Shall pass from life, or, sadder yet, shall fall 
From virtue ? Strife with foes, or bitterer strife 
With friends, or shame and general scorn of men— 
Which who can bear ? — or the fierce rack of pain, 
Lie they within my path ? Or shall the years 
Push me, with soft and inoffensive pace, 
Into the stiUy twilight of my age ? 
Or do the portals of another life 
Even now, while I am glorying in my strength, 
Impend around me ? Oh 1 beyond that bourne, 
In the vast cycle of being which begins 
At that broad threshold, with what fairer forms 
Shall the great law of change and progress clothe 
Its workings ? Gently — so have good men taught— 
Gently, and without grief, the old shaU glide 
Jnto the new ; the eternal flow of things. 
Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, 
Shall journey onward in perpetual peace; 



224 LA.TEB POSMB. 



THE PAINTED CUP. 

The fresh savannas of the Sangamon 
Here rise in gentle swells, and the long graau 
Is mixed with rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts 
Are glowing in the green, like flakes of fire , 
The wanderers of the prairie know them well, 
And call that brilliant flower the Painted Cup. 

Now, if thou art a poet, tell me not 
That these bright chalices were tinted thus 
To hold the dew for fairies, when they meet 
On moonlight evenings in the hazel bowers, 
And dance till they are thirsty. Call not up, 
Amid this fresh and virgin solitude. 
The faded fancies of an elder world ; 
But leave these scarlet cups to spotted moths 
Of June, and glistening flies, and hu mining-birds, 
To drink from, when on all ihese boundless lawoi 
The morning sun looks hot. Or let the wind 
O'erturn in sport their ruddy brims, and pour 
A sudden shower upon the strawberry plant. 
To swell the reddening fruit that even now 
Breathes a slight fragrance from the sunny slopeii 

But thou art of a gayer fancy. Well — 
Let then the gentle Manitou of flowers, 
Lingering amid the bloomy waste he loves. 
Though all his swarthy worshippers are gone — 
Slender and small, his rounded cheek all brown 
And ruddy with the sunshine ; let him come 
On summer mornings, when the blossoms wake, 
And part with little hands the spiky grass ; 
And touching, with his cherry lips, the edge 
Of these bright beakers, drain the gathered dew. 



A. DBEAM. 225 



A DREAM. 

f HAD a dream — a strange, wild dream- 
Said a dear voice at early light ; 

And even yet its shadows seem 
To linger in my waking sight. 

Earth, green with spring, and fresh with dew 
And bright with morn, before me stood ; 

And airs just wakened softly blew 
On the young blossoms of the wood. 

Birds sang within the sprouting shade. 
Bees hummed amid the whispering grass, 

A.nd children prattled as they played 
Beside the rivulet's dimpling glass. 

Fast climbed the sun : the flowers were flowB 
There played no children in the glen ; 

For some were gone, and some were grown 
To blooming dames and bearded men. 

'Twas noon, 'twas summer : I beheld 
Woods darkening in the flush of day. 

And that bright rivulet spread and swelled, 
A mighty stream, with creek and bay. 

And here was love, and there was strife. 
And mirthful shouts, and wrathful cries, 

And strong men, struggling as for life. 
With knotted limbs and angry eyes. 

15 



226 LATEE POEMS, 

N"ow stooped the snn — the shades grew thin ; 

The rustling paths were piled with leaves, 
And sunburnt groups were gathering in, 

From the shorn field, its fruits and sheaves 

The river heaved with sullen sounds ; 

The chilly wind was sad with moans; 
Black hearses passed, and burial-grounds 

Grew thick with monumental stones. 

Still waned the day ; the wind that chased 
The jagged clouds blew chiller yet ; 

The woods were stripped, tlie fields were waate; 
The wintry sun was near his set. 

And of the young, and strong, and fair, 
A lonely remnant, gray and weak, 

Lingered, and shivered to the air 
Of that bleak shore and water bleak. 

Ah 1 age is drear, and death is cold 1 
I turned to thee, for thou wert near, 

And saw thee withered, bowed, and old, 
And woke all faint with sudden fear. 

Twas thus I heard the dreamer say. 
And bade her clear her clouded bi'ow; 

■ For thou and I, since childhood's day, 

Have walked in such a dream till now 

■ Watch we in calmness, as they rise, 

The changes of that rapid dream, 
And note its lessons, till our eyes 
?hall open in the morning beam." 



THE ANTIQUITY OP FREEDOM. 227 



THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. 

Hlre are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled jdnes, 
rhat stream with gray-green mosses ; here the ground 
Was never trenched by spade, and flowers sprmg up 
Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet 
To linger here, among the flitting birds 
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds 
That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass, 
A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set 
With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades — 
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old- — 
My thoughts go up the long dim path of years, 
Back to the earliest days of liberty. 

Oh Freedom ! thou art not, as poets dream, 
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, 
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap 
With which the Roman master crowned his slave 
When he took off" the gyves. A bearded man, 
Armed to the teeth, art thou ; one mailed hand 
Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow, 
Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred 
With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs 
Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched 
His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee,* 
They could not quench the life thou hast from heavea 
Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep. 
And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires, 
Have forged thy chain ; yet, whUe he deems thee bound 
The links are shivered, and the prison walls 
Fall outward ; terribly thou springest forth. 



228 . LA.TER P0KM8. 

As springs the flame above a burning pile, 
And shoutest to the nations, who return 
Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. 

Thy birthright was not given by human bauds : 
Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fieldii 
While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him. 
To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, 
And teach the reed to utter simple airs. 
Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, 
Didst war upon the panther and the wolf. 
His only foes ; and thou with him didst draw 
The earliest furrow on the mountain side. 
Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself. 
Thy enemy, although of reverend look, 
Hoary with many years, and far obeyed, 
Is later born than thou ; and as he meets 
The grave defiance of thine elder eye 
The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. 

Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years 
But he shall fade into a feebler age ; 
Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares. 
And spring them on thy careless steps, and cla]> 
His withered hands, and from their ambush call 
His hordes to fell upon thee. He shall send 
Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant forms 
To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words 
To charm thy ear ; while his sly imps, by stealth; 
Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread 
That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms 
With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh I not yet 
Mayst thou unbraee thy corslet, nor lay by 
Thy sword ; nor yet, O Freedom I close thy lids 
In slumber; for thine enemy never sleeps. 
And thou must watch and combat till the day 
Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst thou reel 
Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men. 



THE maiden's soeeo^. 224 

These old and friendly solitudes invite 
rhy visit. They, while yet the forest trees 
Were young upon the unviolated earth, 
A.nd yet the moss-stains on the rock were ne"Wj 
Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. 



THE MAIDEN'S SOEROW. 

Sevkn long years has the desert rain 
Dropped on the clods that hide thy face ; 

Seven long years of sorrow and pain 
I have thought of thy burial-place. 

Thought of thy fate in the distant west, 
Dying with none that loved thee near 

They who flung the earth on thy breast 
Turned from the spot without a tear. 

There, I think, on that lonely grave, 
Violets spring in the soft May shower; 

There, in the summer breezes, wave 
Crimson phlox and moccasin flower. 

There the turtles alight, and there 
Feeds with her fawn the timid doe ; 

Hiere, when the winter woods are bare, 
vValks the wolf on the crackling snow 

Soon wilt thou wipe my tears away ; 

All my task upon earth is done ; 
My poor father, old and gray, 

Slumbers beneath the churchyard stone 



230 LATER POEMS. 

In the dreams of my lonely bed, 
Ever thy form before me seems, 

All night long I talk with the dead. 
All day long 1 think of my dreams* 

This deep wound that bleeds and aches, 
This long pain, a sleepless pain — 

When the Father my spirit takes, 
1 shall feel it no more again. 



THE RETURN OF YOUTH. 

M\ ft-iend, thou sorrowest for thy golden prime, 

V or thy fair youthful years too swift of flight ; 
rhou niusest, with wet eyes, upon the time 

Of cheerful hopes that filled the world with light,— 
Vears when thy heart was bold, thy hand was strong 

Aiid quick the thought that moved thy tongue t< 
speak^ 
A.nd willing faith was thine, and scorn of wrong 

Summoned the sudden crimson to thy cheek, 

rhou lookest forward on the coming days, 

Shuddering to feel their shadow o'er thee ?reep ; 
A path, thick-set with changes and decays. 

Slopes downward to the place of common sleep; 
ind they who walked with thee in life's first stage 

Leave one by one thy side, and, waiting near, 
rhou seest the sad companions of thy age — 

Dull love of rest, and weariness and fear. 



A HYMN OF THE SEA. 231 

Yet grieve thou not, nor think thy youth is gone, 

Nor deem that glorious season e'er could die. 
Thy pleasant youth, a little while withdrawn, 

Waits on the horizon of a brighter sky ; 
Waits, like the morn, that folds her wing and hides, 

Till the slow stars bring back her dawning hour ; 
Waits, like the vanished spring, that slumbering bide* 

Her own sweet time to waken bud and flower. 

There shall he welcome thee, when thou shalt stand 

On his bright morning hills, with smiles more sweei 
Than when at first he took thee by the hand. 

Through the fair earth to lead thy tender feet. 
He shall bring back, but brighter, broader still. 

Life's early glory to thine eyes again, 
Shall clothe thy spirit with new strength, and fill 

Th}' leaping heart with warmer love than then 

Hast thou not glimpses, in the twilight here. 

Of nn)untains where immortal morn prevails? 
Comes there not, through the silence, to thine ear 

A gentle rustling of the morning gales; 
A murmur, wafted from that gloricus shore. 

Of streams that water banks for ever fair, 
And voices of the loved ones gone before, 

More musical in that celestial air ? 



A HYMN OF THE SEA, 

The sea is mighty, but a mightier sways 
His restless billows. Thou, whose hands have scooped 
His boundless gulfs and built his shore, thy breath, 
That moved in the beginning o'er his face. 



282 LATER POEMS. 

Moves o'er it evermore. The obedient waves 
To its strong motion roll, and rise and falL 
Still from that i ealm of rain thy cloud goes up, 
As at the first, to water the great earth, 
And keep her valleys green. A hundred realms 
Watch its broad shadow warping on the wind, 
And in the dropping shower, with gladness hear 
Thy promise of the harvest. I look forth 
Over the boundless blue, where joyously 
The bright crests of innumerable waves 
Glance to the sun at once, as when the hands 
Of a great multitude are upward flung 
In acclamation, I behold the ships 
Gliding from cape to cape, from isle to isle. 
Or stemming toward far lands, or hastening home 
From the old world. It is thy friendly breeze 
That bears tliem, with the riches of the land, 
And treasure of dear lives, till, in the port. 
The shoutiiifi: seaman climbs and furls the sail. 



But who shall bide thy tempest, who shaU face 
Tlie blast that wakes the fury of the sea ? 
Oh Godl thy justice makes the world turn pale, 
When on the armed fleet, that royally 
Bears down the surges, carrying war, to smite 
Some city, or invade some thoughtless realm, 
Descends the fierce tornado. The vast hulks 
Are whirled like chafi" upon the waves ; the sails 
Fly, rent like webs of gossamer; the masts 
Are snapped asunder ; downward from the decks 
Downward are slung, into the fathomless gulf, 
Their cruel engines ; and their hosts, arrayed 
In trappings of the battle-field, are whelmed 
By whirlpools, or dashed dead upon the rocks. 
Then stand the nations still with awe, and pause, 
A moment, from the bloody work of war. 



A HYMN OF THE SEA. 238 

These restless surges eat away the shores 
Of earth's old continents ; the fertile plain 
Welters in shallows, headlands crumble down, 
And the tide drifts the sea-sand in the streets 
Of the drowned city. Thou, meanwhile, afar 
Tn the green chambers of the middle sea, 
Where broadest spread the waters and the line 
Sinks deepest, while no eye beholds thy work, 
Creator ! thou dost teach the coral worm 
To lay_ his mighty reefs. From age to age. 
He builds beneath the waters, tUl, at last, 
His bulwarks overtop the brine, and check 
The long wave rolling from the southern pole 
To break upon Japan. Thou bidd'st the fires. 
That smoulder under ocean, heave on high 
The new-made mountains, and uplift their peaks, 
A place of refuge for the storm-driven bird. 
The birds and wafting billows plant the rifts 
With herb and tree ; sweet fountains gush ; sweet a^ n 
Ripple the living lakes that, fringed with flowers. 
Are gathered in the hollows. Thou dost look 
On thy creation and pronounce it good. 
Its valleys, glorious with their summer green. 
Praise thee in silent beauty, and its woods. 
Swept by the murmuring winds of ocean, join 
The murm^ ring shores in a perpetual hymn. 



834 LATEK POEMS. 



NOON. 

FUOM AN UNFINISHED POEM. 

'Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the kne€ 
A-ud worshipped, whil3 the husbandmen withdrew 
From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man 
Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount. 
Or rested in the shadow of the palm. 

I, too, amid the overflow of day. 
Behold the power which wields and cherishes 
The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock 
That overlooks the Hudson's western marge, 
I gaze upon the long array of groves, 
The piles and gulfs of vei-dure drinking in 
The grateful heats. Thej^ love the fiery sun ; 
Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their spray i 
Climb as he looks upon them. In the midst, 
The swelling river, into his green gulfs. 
Unshadowed save by passing sails above, 
Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys 
The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers 
That would not open in the early light, 
Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulets pool, 
That darkly quivered all the morning long 
In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun ; 
And o'er its surface shoots, and shoots again, 
Hie glittering dragon-fl}^ and deep within 
Run the browu water-beetles to and fro. 

A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour, 
Reigns o'er the fields ; the laborer sits within 
His dweU'ug ; lie has left his steers awhile. 



NOON. 28J 

Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog 

Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the eshadc 

Now the grey marmot, with uplifted paws. 

No more sits listening by his den, but steals 

Abroad, in safety, to the clover-field. 

And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while 

A ceaseless murmur from the populous town 

SweUs o'er these solitudes: a mingled sound 

Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash 

Upon the stony ways, and hammer-clang, 

And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks. 

And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet, 

Innumerable, hurrying to and fro. 

Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings 

No pause to toil and care. With early day 

Began the tumult, and shall only cease 

When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds 

Of bu?tle, gathers the tired brood to rest. 

Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gaii 
And luxury possess the hearts of men, 
Thus is it with the noon of human life. 
We, in our fervid manhood, in our strength 
Of reason, we, with hurry, noise, and care, 
Plan, toil, and strive, and pause not to refresl 
Our spirits with the calm and beautiful 
Of God'a harmonious universe, that won 
Our youthful wonder; pause not to inquire 
Why we are here ; and what the reverence 
Man owes to man, and what the mystery 
That links us to the greater world, beside 
V^ hose borders we but hover for a space. 



286 I.ATEB POEMS. 



THE CROWDED STREET 

r^ET me move slowly through the street, 
Filled with au ever-shifting train, 

Amid the sound of steps that beat 
The murmuring walks like autumn rain. 

How fast the flitting figures come I 
The mild, the fierce, the stony face ; 

Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and som« 
Where secret tears have left their trace. 

They pass — to toil, to strife, to rest; 

To halls in which the feast is spread; 
To chambers where the funeral guest 

In silence sits beside the dead. 

And some to happy homes repair, 

Where children, pressing cheek to cheek. 

With mute caresses shall declare 
The tenderness they cannot speak. 

And some, who walk in calmness here, 
Shall shudder as they reach the door 

Where one who made their dwelling dear, 
Its flower, its light, is seen no more. 

Touth, with pale cheek and slender frame, 
And dreams of greatness in thine eye 1 

io'st thou to build an early name, 
Or early in the task to die? 



THE WHl IE-FOOTED DEEE. 28V 

Keen son of trade, with eager brow! 

Who is now fluttering in thy snare? 
Thy golden fortunes, tower they now, 

Or melt the glittering spires in air ? 

Who of this crowd to-night shall tread 
The dance till daylight gleam again ? 

Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead? 
Who writhe in throes of mortal pain ? 

Some, famine-struck, shall think ht.w long 
The cold dark hours, how slow the light ; 

And some, who flaunt amid the throng, 
Shall hide in dens of shame to-night. 

Each, where his tasks or pleasures call. 
They pass, and heed each other not. 

There is who heeds, who holds them all, 
In his large love and boundless thought. 

These struggling tides of life that seem 
In wayward, aimless course to tend, 

A.re eddies of the mighty stream 
That rolls to its appointed end 



THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER 

It was a hundred years ago. 
When, by the woodland ways. 

The traveller saw the wild deer drink. 
Or crop the birchen sprays. 



B38 LATER rOEMS. 

Beneath a bill, whose rocky side 

O'erbrowed a grassy mead, 
And fenced a cottage from the wind 

A deer was wont to feed. 

She only came when on the cliffs 
The evening moonlight lay. 

And no man knew the secret haunts 
In which she walked by day. 

White were her feet, her forehead showed 

A spot of silvery white, 
That seemed to glimmer like a star 

In autumn's hazy night. 

And here, when sang the whippoorwill, 
She cropped the sprouting leaves. 

And here her rustling steps were heard 
On stiU October eves. 

But when the broad midsummer moon 

Rose o'er that grassy lawn. 
Beside the silver-footed deer 

There grazed a spotted fawn. 

The cottage dame forbade her son 
To aim the rifle here ; 

* It were a sin," she said, " to harm 

Or fright that friendly deer. 

* This spot has been my pleasant home 

Ten peaceful years and more ; 
And ever, when the moonlight shines, 
She feeds before our door 



THE WHITE-FOOTED DEEE. 2S9 

' The red men say that here she walked 

A thousand naoons ago ; 
They never raise the war-whoop here, 
And never twang the bow. 

I love to watch her as she feeds, 

And think that aU is well 
While such a gentle creature haunts 

The place in which we dweU." 

The youth obeyed, and sought for game 

In forests far away, 
Where, deep in silence and in moss 

The ancient woodland lay. 

But once, in autumn's golden time, 

He ranged the wild in vain. 
Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer 

And wandered home again. 

The crescent moon and crimson ev« 

Shone with a mingling light ; 
The deer, upon the grassy mead, 

Was feeding full in sight. 

He raised the rifle to his eye, 

And from the cliffs around 
A sudden echo, shrill and sharp, 

Gave back its deadly sound. 

Away, into the neighboring wood, 

The startled creature flew, 
And crimson drops at morning laj 

Amid the glimmering dew 



340 LATER POEMS. 

Next evening shone the waxing moon 

As sweetly as before ; 
The deer upon the grassy mead 
Was seen again no more. 

But ere that crescent moon was old, 
By night the red men came, 

And burnt the cottage to the ground. 
And slew the youth and dame. 

Now woods have overgrown the mead, 
And hid tne cliffs from sight ; 

There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon 
And prowls the fox at night. 



THE WANING MOON. 

1 VE watched too late ; the morn is near ; 

One look at God's broad silent sky I 
Oh, hopes and wishes vainly dear, 

How in 3'our very strength ye die 1 

E76n while your glow is on the cheek, 
And scarce the high pursuit begun, 

The heart grows faint, the hand grows weak 
The task of life is left undone. 

See where, upon the horizon's brim. 
Lies the stiU cloud in gloomy bars ; 

The waning moon, all pale and dim. 
Goes up amid the eternal stars. 



THE WANING MOON. 241 

Late, in a flood of tender light, 
She floated through the ethereal blut, 

A softer sun, that shone all night 
Upon the gathering beads of dew. 

And still thou wanest, pallid moonl 
The encroaching shadow grows apace: 

Heaven's everlasting watchers soon 
Shall see thee blotteti fj-om thy place. 

Oh, Night's dethroned and crownless queen I 

Well may thy sad, expiring ray 
Be shed on those whose eyes have seen 

Hope's glorious visions fade away. 

Shine thou for eyes that once were bright, 

For sages in the mind's eclipse, 
For those whose words were speils of might, 

But falter now on stammering lips 1 

In thy decaying beam there lies 

Full many a grave on hill and plain, 

Of those who closed their dying eyes 
In grief that they had lived in vain. 

Another night, and thou among 

The spheres of heaven shalt cease to shine 
All rayless in the glittering throng 

Whose lustre late was quenched in thine. 

Fet soon a nrw and tender light 
From out thy darkened orb shall beam, 

\Dd broaden till it shines all night 
On glistening dew and glimmering stream 



16 



442 LATEB PUEMfi. 



THE STREAM OF LIFE 

Oh silvery streamlet of the fields, 

That flowest full and free 1 
For thee the rains of spring return, 

The summer dews for thee ; 
And when thy latest blossoms die 

In autumn's chilly showers, 
The winter fountains gush for thee, 

Till May bi'ings back the flowers. 

Oh Stream of Life ! the violet springs 

But once besiJe thy bed ; 
But one brief summer, on thy path, 

The dews of heaven are shed. 
Thy parent fountains shrink away, 

And close their crystal veins. 
And where thy glittering current florae 

The dust alone remains. 



THE UNKNOWN WAl 

h. BURNING sky is o'er me, 
The sands beneath me glow, 

As onward, onward, wearily, 
In the sultry morn I go. 



THE imKNOWN WAY. 243 

From the dusty path there opens, 

Eastward, an unknown way; 
Above its windings, pleasantly, 

The woodland branches play. 

A silvery brook conies stealing 

From the shadow of its trees, 
Where slender herbs of the forest stoop 

Before the entering breeze. 

Along those pleasant windings 

I would my journey lay, 
Where the shade is cool and the dew of night 

Is not yet dried away. 

Path of the flowery woodland I 

Oh whither dost thou lead, 
Wandering by grassy orchard grounds 

Or by the open mead ? 

Goest thou by nestling cottage ? 

Goest thou by stately hall, 
Where the broad elm droops, a leafy dome, 

And woodbines flaunt on the wall? 

By steeps where chUdren gather 

Flowers of the yet fresh year ? 
By lonely walks where lovers stray 

Till the tender stars appear ? 

Or haply dost thou linger 

On barren plains and bare. 
Or clamber the bald mountain side 

Into the thinner air? 



244 LATEE POEMS. 

Where they who journey upward 

Walk in a weary track, 
A.nd oft upon the shady vale 

With longing eyes look back? 

I hear a solemn murmur, 
And, listening to the sound, 

I kuew the voice of the mighty sea. 
Beating his pebbly bound. 

Dost thou, oh path of the woodland 1 
End where those waters roar. 

Like human life, on a trackless beach, 
With a boundless Sea before ? 



•'OH MOTHER OF A MIGHTY RACE-' 

Oh mother of a mighty race. 
Yet lovely in thy youthful grace 1 
The elder dames, thy haughty peers. 
Admire and hate thy blooming years. 

"With words of shame 
And taunts of scorn they join thy name. 

For on thy cheeks the glow is spread 
That tints thy morning hills with red ; 
They step — the wild deer's rustling feet, 
Within thy woods are not more fleet; 

Thy hopeful eye 
[s bright as thine own sunny sky. 



"oh mother of a miohty eaoe." 9,46 

A.ye, let them rail — those haughty ones, 
While safe thon dwellest with thy sons. 
They do not know how loved thou art, 
How many a fond and fearless heart 

Would rise to throw 
Its life between thee and the foe. 



They know not, in their hate and pride, 
What virtues with thy children bide ; 
How true, how good, thy graceful maids 
Make bright, like flowers, the valley shades; 

What generous men 
Spring, like tbine oaks, by hill and glen. 

What cordial welcomes greet the guest 
By thy lone rivers of the West ; 
How faith is kept, and truth revered, 
And man is loved, and God is feared, 

In woodland homes. 
And where the ocean border foams. 

There's freedom at thy gates and rest 
For Earth's down-trodden and opprest, 
A shelter for the hunted head. 
For the starved laborer toil and bread. 

Power, at thy bounds, 
Stops and calls back his baffled hounds 

Oh, fair young mother 1 on thy brow 
Shall sit a nobler grace than now. 
Deep in the brightness of thy skies. 
The thronging years in glory rise, 

And, as they fleet. 
Drop strength and riches at thy feet. 



Hd LATER POEM& 

Thine eye, with every coming hour, 
Shall brighten, and thy form shall tower; 
And when thy sisters, elder born, 
Would brand thy name with words of scom, 

Before thine eye. 
Upon their lips the taunt shall die. 



THE LAND OF DREAMS. 

A. MIGHTY realm is the Land of Dreams, 
With steeps that hang in the twilight sky, 

A.nd weltering oceans and trailing streams. 
That gleam where the dusky valleys lie. 

But over its shadowy border flow 
Sweet rays from the world of endless morn, 

And the nearer mountains catch the glow. 
And flowers in the nearer fields are born. 

The souls of the happy dead repair, 

From their bowers of light, to that bordering laud 
A.nd walk in the fainter glory there, 

With the souls of the living hand in hand- 
One calm sweet smile, in that shadowy sphere, 

From eyes that open on earth no more — 
One warning word from a voice once dear — 

How they rise in the memory o'er and o'er I 

Far off from those hills that shine with day 
And fields that bloom in the heavenly gales, 

Oie Land of Dreams goes stretching away 
To dimmer mountains and darker vales. 



THE BTIRIAL OF LOVE. 247 

rhere lie the chambers of guilty delight, 
There walk the spectres of guilty fear, 

And soft low voices, that float through the ughi, 
Are whispering sin in the helpless ear. 

Dear maid, in thy girlhood's opening flower. 
Scarce weaned from the love of childish play I 

nie tears on whose cheeks are but the shower 
That freshens the blooms of early May 1 

Thine eyes are closed, and over thy brow 
Pass thoughtful shadows and joyous gleams, 

And I know, by thy moving lips, that now 
Thy spirit strays In the Land of Dreams. 

Light-hearted maiden, oh, heed thy feet t 
keep where that beam of Paradise falls : 

And only wander where thou may'st meet 
The blessed ones from its shining walls. 

So shalt thou come from the Land of Dreams, 
With love and peace to this world of strife: 

^nd the light that over that border streams 
Shall lie or the path of thy daily life. 



»♦♦- 



THE BURIAL OF LOVE. 

Two dark-eyed maids, at shut of day, 
Sat where a river roUed away, 
With calm sad brows and raven hair, 
And one was paie and both were fair. 



248 LATER POEMS. 

Bring flowers, they sang, bring flowers unblown, 
Bring forest blooms of name unknown ; 
Bring budding sprays from wood and wild, 
To strew the bier of Love, the child 

Close softly, fondly, while ye weep, 
His eyes, that death may seem like sleep, 
And fold his hands in sign of rest, 
His waxen hands, across his breast. 

And make his grave where violets hide, 
Where star-flowers strew the rivulet's side, 
And blue-birds in the misty spring 
Of cloudless skies and summer sing. 

Place near him, as ye lay him low, 
His idle shafts, his loosened bow, 
The silken fillet that around 
Ills waggish eyes in sport he wound- 
But we shall mourn him long, and miss 
His ready smile, his ready kiss. 
The patter of his little feet, 
Sweet frowns and stammered phrases sweet , 

And graver looks, serene and high, 
A light of heaven in that young eye, 
All these shall haunt us till the heart 
Shall ache and ache — and tears will sturt. 

The bow, the band shall faU to dust, 
The shining arrows waste with rust. 
And all of Love that earth can claim, 
Be but a memory and a name. 



THB MAT-Sim SHEDS AN AMBEB LIGHT. 249 

tfot thus his nobler part shall dwell, 
A prisoner in this narrow cell ; 
But he whom now we hide from men, 
In the dark ground, shall live again. 

Shall break these clods, a form of light, 
With nobler mien and purer sight, 
And in the eternal glory stand, 
ffighest and nearest God's right hand. 



THE MAY-SUN SHEDS AN AMBER LIGHT. 

The May-sun sheds an amber light 

On new-leaved woods and lawns between ; 
But she who, with a smile more bright, 

Welcomed and watched the springing green, 
Is in her grave, 
Low in her grave. 

The fair white blossoms of the wood 

In groups beside the pathway stand r 
But one, the gentle and the good, 

Who cropped them with a fairer hand, 
Is in her grave, 
Low in her grave. 

Upon the woodland's morning airs 

The small bird's mingled notes are flung ; 
But she, whose voice, more sweet than theirs, 
Once bade me listen while they sung. 
Is in her grave, 
Low in her grave. 



E50 LATER POEMS. 

That music of the early year 

Brings tears of anguish to my eyes ; 
My heart aches when the flowers appear 
For then I think of her who lies 

Within her giave, 
Low in her grave. 



THE VOICE OF AUTUMF 

There comes, from yonder height. 

A soft repining sound, 
Where forest leaves are bright, 
And fall, like flakes of light, 

To the ground. 

It IS the autumn breeze. 

That, lightly floating on, 
Just skims the weedy leas, 
Just stirs the glowing trees, 
And is gone. 

He moans by sedgy brook, 
And visits, with a sigh, 
The last pale flowers that loofe 
From out their sunny nook. 
At the sky. 

O'er shouting children flies 

That light October wind, 

And, kissing cheeks and eyes 

He leaves their merry cries 

Far behind. 



THE VOICE OP AUTUMN. 261 

And ■wanders on to make 
That soft uneasy sound 
By distant wood and lake, 
Where distant fountains break 

From the ground 

No bower where maidens dwell 

Can win a moment's stay ; 
Nor fair untrodden dell ; 
He sweeps the upland swell, 
And away ! 

Mourn'st thou thy homeless state! 

Oh soft, repining wind! 
That early seek'st and late 
The rest it is thy fate 

Not to find 

Not on the mountain's breast, 

Not on the ocean's shore, 
In all the East and West: 
The wind that stops to rest 
Is no more. 

By vaUeys, woods, and springe, 

No wonder thou shouldst grierr 
For all the glorious things 
Thou toiichest with thy wings 
And must leaTQ. 



252 LATEB POEMS. 



THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE 

WirHiN this lowly grave a Conqueror lies, 
And yet the monument proclaims it not, 
Nor round the sleeper's name hath chisel wrought 

The emblems of a fame that never dies, 
Ivy and amaranth, in a graceful sheaf, 
Twined with the laurel's fair, imperial lea£ 
A simple name alone, 
To the great world unknown, 
Is graven here, and wild flowers, rising round. 
Meek meadow-sweet and violets of the ground, 
Lean lovingly against the humble stone. 

Here, in the quiet earth, they laid apart 

No man of iron mould and bloody hands. 
Who sought to wreak upon the cowering lands 

The passions that consumed his restless heart; 
But one of tender spirit and delicate frame 
Gentlest, in mien and mind, 
Of gentle womankind. 
Timidly shrinking from the breath of blame : 
One in whose eyes the smile of kindness made 

Its haunt, like flowers by sunny brooks in May, 
Vet, at the thought of other's pain, a shade 

Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away. 

Nor deem that when the hand that moulders here 
Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with feai 

And armies mustered at the sign, as when 
Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy East, — 

Gray captains leading bands of veteran men 
And flery youths to be the vulture's feast. 



THE oonqueeoe's geave. 253 

Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave 
The victory to her who fills this grave : 

Alone her task was wrought, 

Alone the battle fought ; 
Through that long strife her constant hope was staid 
On God alone, nor looked for other aid. 

She met the hosts of Sorrow with a look 

That altered not beneath the frown they wore. 
And soon the lowering brood were tamed, and took, 

Meekly, her gentle rule, and frowned no more. 
Her soft hand put aside the assaults of wrath. 
And calmly broke in twain 
The fiery shafts of pain, 
And rent the nets of passion from her path. 

By that victorious hand despair was slain. 
With love she vanquished hate and overcame 

Evil with good, in her Great Master's name. 

Her glory is not ol this shadowy state. 

Glory that with the fleeting season dies ; 
But when she entered at the sapphire gate 

What joy was radiant in celestial eyes! 
How heaven's bright depths with sounding welcome* 

rung. 
And flowers of heaven by shining hands were flung 
And He who, long before, 
Pain, scorn, and sorrow bore. 
The Mighty Sufferer, with aspect sweet. 
Smiled on the timid stranger from his seat ; 
He who returning, glorious, from the grave, 
Dragged Death, disarmed, in chains, a crouch infj 
slave. 

See, as I linger here, tlie sun grows low ; 

Cool airs are murmuring that the night is near 
Oh gentle sleeper, from thy grave I go 

Consoled though sad, in hope and yet in fear. 



254 LATEE POEMS. 

Brief is the time, I know, 
The warfare scarce begun ; 
Yet all may win the triumphs thou liast won. 
Still flows the fount whose waters strengthened theft 

The victors' names are yet too few to fill 
Heaven's mighty roll ; the glorious armory, 
That ministered to thee, is open still 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE. 

Come, let us plant the apple-tree. 
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade , 
Wide let its hollow bed be made ; 
There gently lay the roots, and there 
Sift the dark mould with kindly care, 

And press it o'er them tenderly. 
As, round the sleeping infant's feet 
We softly fold the cradle-sheet ; 

So plant we the apple-tree. 

What plant we in this apple-tree ? 
Buds, which the breath of summer days 
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays ; 
Boughs where the thrush, with crimson hieast, 
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest-, 

We plant, upon the sunny lea, 
A shadow for the noontide hour, 
A shelter from the summer shower, 

When we plant the apple-tree. 

What plant we in this apple-tree ? 
Sweets for a hundred floweiy springs 
To load the May-wind's restless wings. 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TEKE. 255 

When, from the orchard row, he pours 
Its fragrance through our open doors ; 

A world of blossoms for the bee, 
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, 
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, 

We plant with the apple-tree. 



What plant we in this apple-tree ? 
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, 
And redden in the August noon. 
And drop, when gentle airs come by, 
That fan the blue September sky, 

While children come, w ith cries of glee, 
And seek them where the fragrant grass 
Betrays their bed to those who pass, 

At the foot of the apple-tree. 



And when, above this apple-tree. 
The winter stars are quivering bright. 
And winds go howling through the night. 
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirtb 
Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth, 

And guests in prouder homes shall see, 
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine 
And golden orange of the line. 

The fruit of the apple-tree. 

The fruitage of this apple- tree 
Winds, and our flag of stripe and star, ' 
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, 
Where men shall wonder at the view 
And ask in what fair groves they grew ; 

And sojourners beyond the sea 
Shall think of childhood's careless day 
And long, long hours of summer play, 

In the shade of the apple-tree. 



256 LATEB POEMB. 

Each year shall give this apple-tree 
A broader flush of roseate bloom, 
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom, 
And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower, 
The crisp brown leaves in thicker showei 

The years shall come and pass, but we 
Shall hear no longer, where we lie, 
The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh. 

In the boughs of the apple-tree. 

And time shall waste this apple-tree. 
Oh, when its aged branches throw 
Thin shadows on the ground below, 
Shall fraud and force and iron will 
Oppress the weak and helpless still ? 

What shall the tasks of mercy be, 
Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears 
Of those who live when length of years 

Is wasting this apple-tree ? ^ 

" Who planted this old apple-tree ? " 
The children of that distant day 
Thus to some aged man shall say ; 
And, gazing on its mossy stem, 
The gray-haired man shall answer them : 
*' A poet of the land was he, 
Born in the rude but good old times ; 
'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymflt 
On planting the apple-tree." 



THE SNOW-SHOWEE. 257 



THE SNOW -SHOWER. 

Stand here by my side and turn, I pray, 
On the lake below thy gentle eyes ; 

The clouds hang over it, heavy and gi'ay. 
And dark and silent the water lies ; 

And out of that frozen mist the snow 

In wavering flakes begins to flow ; 

Flake after flake 

They sink in the dark and silent lake. 

See how in a living swarm they come 

From the chambers beyond that misty veil 

Some hover awhile in air, and some 

Rush prone from the sky like summer haiL 

All, dropping swiftly or settling slow, 

Meet, and are still in the depths below ; 
Flake after flake 

Dissolved in the dark and silent lake. 

Here delicate snow-stars, out of the cloud, 
Come floating downward in airy play. 

Like spangles dropped from the glistening crowd 
That whiten by night the milky way ; 

There broader and burlier masses fall ; 

The sullen water buries them all — 

Flake after flake — 

All drowned in the dark and silent lake. 

Ajid some, as on tender wings they glide 
From their chilly birth-cloud, dim and gray, 

ire joined in their fall, and, side by side, 
Come clinging along their unsteady way ; 
17 



268 LATER POEMS. 

As friend with friend, or husband with wife 
Makes hand in hand the passage of life ; 

Bach mated flake 
Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake. 

Lo ! while we are gazing, in swifter haste 
Stream down the snows, till the air is white, 

As, myriads by myriads madly chased, 

They fling themselves from their shaduwy heigM 

The fair, frail creatures of middle sky. 

What speed they make, with their grave so nigh ; 
Flake after flake, 

To lie in the dark and silent lake ! 

I see in thy gentle eyes a tear ; 

They turn to me in sorrowful thought ; 
Thou thinkest of friends, the good and dear, 

Who were for a time, and now are not; 
Like these fair children of cloud and frost, 
That glisten a moment and then are lost, 

Flake after flake — 
All lost in the dark and silent lake. 

Yet look again, for the clouds divide ; 

A gleam of blue on the water lies ; 
And far away, on the mountain-side, 

A sunbeam falls from the opening skies. 
But the hurrying host tliat flew between 
The cloud and the water, no more is seen ; 

Flake after flake, 
At rest in the dark and silent lake. 



k RAIN-DEE AM. 259 



A RAIN- DREAM. 

rEi:SE strifes, these tumults of the noisy world, 
Where Fraud, the coward, tracks his prey by stealth, 
And Strength, the ruffian, glories in his guilt, 
Oppress the heart with sadness. Oh, my friend, 
In what serener mood we look upon 
The gloomiest aspects of the elements 
Among the woods and fields ! Let us awhile, 
As the slow wind is rolling up the storm, 
In fancy leave this maze of dusty streets, 
Forever shaken by the importunate jar 
Of commerce, and upon the darkening air 
Look from the shelter of our rural home. 

Who is not awed that listens to the Rain, 
Sending his voice before him ? Mighty Rain ! 
The upland steeps are shrouded by thy mists ; 
Thy shadow fills the hollow vale ; the pools 
No longer glimmer, and the silvery streams 
Darken to veins of lead at thy approach. 
Oh, mighty Rain ! already thou art here; 
And every roof is beaten by thy streams^ 
And, as thou passest, every glassy spring 
Grows rough, and every leaf io all the woods 
Is struck, and quivers. All the hill-tops slake 
Their thirst from thee ; a thousand languishing fields 
A thousand fainting gardens, are refreshed ; 
A thousand idle rivulets start to speed, 
And with the graver murmur of the storm 
Blend their light voices as they hurry on. 

Thou fill'st th i circle of the atmosphere 
Alone ; there is no living thing abroad. 
No bird to wing the air nor beast to walk 



260 LATEU POEMS. 

The field ; the squirre. in the forest seeks 
His hollow tree ; the marmot of the field 
Has scampered to his den ; the butterfly 
Hides under her broad leaf; the insect crowds 
That made the sunshine populous, lie close 
lu their mysterious shelters, whence the sun 
Will summon them again. The mighty Rain 
Holds the vast empire of the sky alone. 

I shut my eyes, and see, as in a dream, 
The friendly clouds drop down spring violets 
And summer columbines, and all the flowers 
That tuft the woodland floor, or overarch 
The streamlet : — spiky grass for genial June, 
Brown harvests for the waiting husbandman, 
And for the woods a deluge of fresh leaves. 

I see these myriad drops that slake the dust, 
Gathered in glorious streams, or rolling blue 
In billows on the lake or on the deep. 
And bearing navies. I behold them change 
To threads of crystal as they sink in earth 
And leave its stains behind, to rise again 
In pleasant nooks of verdure, where the child, 
Thirsty with play, in both his little hands 
Shall take the cool, clear water, raising it 
To wet his pretty lips. To-morrow noon 
How proudly will the water-lily ride 
The brimming pool, o'erlooking, like a queeu. 
Her circle of broad leaves. In lonely wastes. 
When next the sunshine makes them beautiful, 
Gay troops of butterflies shall light to drink 
At the replenished hollows of the rock. 

Now slowly falls the dull blank night, and still, 
All through the starless hours, the mighty Rain 
Smites with perpetual sound the forest-leaves, 
And beats the matted grass, and still the earth 
Drinks the unstinted bounty of the clouds — 
Drinks for her cottage wells, her woodland brooks- 
Drinks for the springing trout, the toiling bee, 



EOBEET OF LINCOLN. 261 

And brooding bird — drinks for Ler tender flowers, 
Tall oaks, and all the herb Age of her hills. 

A melancholy sound is in the air, 
A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail 
Around my dwelling. 'Tis the wind of night; 
A lonely wanderer between earth and cloud. 
In the black shadow and the chilly mist. 
Along the streaming mountain-side, and through 
The dripping woods, and o'er the plashy fields, 
Roaming and sorrowing still, like one who makes 
The journey of life alone, and nowhwe meets 
A welcome or a friend, and still goes on 
In darkness. Yet awhile, a little while, 
And he shall toss the gUttering leaves in play, 
And dally with the flowers, and gayly lift 
The slender herbs, pressed low by weight of rain, 
And drive, in joyous triumph, through the sky, 
White clouds, the laggard remnants of the storm. 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 

Merrily swinging on brier and weed, 
Near to the nest of his little dame. 
Over the mountain-side or mead, 
Robert of Lincoln is elling his name : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Snug and safe is that nest of ours. 
Hidden among the summer flowers. ■ 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest. 
Wearing a bright black wedding coat ; 

White are his shoulders and white his cr(«t, 
Hear him call in his merry note : 



262 LATBB POEMS. 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-iink, 

Spink, spank, spink ; 
Look, what a nice new coat is mine, 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, 

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, 
Passing at home a patient life, 

Bi'oods in the grass while her husband sing« 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
Chee^ chee, chee. 

Modest and shy as a nun is she ; 

One weak chirp is her only note. 
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he. 
Pouring boasts from his little throat ' 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Never was I afraid of man ; 
Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, 

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight ! 
There as the mother sits all day, 

Robert is singing with all his might ; 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nice good wife, that never goes out, 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Soon as the little ones chip the sliell 
Six wide mouths are open for food 



THE TWENTY-SEYENTH OF MARCH. 268 

Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, 
Gathering seeds for the liungry bi'ood. 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
This new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
Chec, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln at length is made 

Sober with work, and silent with care ; 
Off is his holiday garment laid, 
Half forgotten that merry air, 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nobody knows but my mate and I 
Where our nest and our nestlings lie. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Summer wanes ; the children are grown : 

Fun and frolic no more he knows ; 
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone ; 
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
When you can pipe that merry old strain, 
Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 
Chee, chee, chee. 



THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF MARCH. 

Oh, gentle one, thy birthday sun should rise 
Amid a chorus of the merriest birds 
That ever sang the stars out of the sky 
In a June morning. Rivulets should send 



264 LATER POEMS. 

A voice of gladness from their winding paths, 
Deep in o'erarching grass, where playful winds, 
Stirring the loaded stems, should shower the dey 
Upon the glassy water. Newly-blown 
Roses, by thousands, to the garden walks 
Should tempt the loitering moth and diligent bee. 
The longest, brightest day in all the year 
Should be the day on which thy cheerful eyes 
First opened on the earth, to make thy haunts 
Fairer and gladder for thy kindly looks. 

Thus might a poet say ; but I must bring 
A biithday offering of an humbler strain, 
And yet it may not please thee less. I hold 
That 'twas the fitting season for thy birth 
When March, just ready to depart, begins 
To soften into April. Then we have 
The delicatest and most welcome flowers, 
And yet they take least heed of bitter wind 
And lowering sky. The periwinkle then 
In an hour's sunshine, lifts her azure blooms 
Beside the cottage door ; within the woods 
Tufts of ground laurel, creeping underneath 
The leaves of the last summer, send their sweets 
Up to the chilly air, and, by the oak, 
The squirrel-cups, a graceful company, 
Hide in their bells, a soft aerial blue — 
Sweet flowers, that nestle in the humblest nooks, 
And yet within whose smallest bud is wrapt 
A world of promise! Still the north wind breathes 
His frost, and still the sky sheds snow and sleet ; 
Yet ever, when the sun looks forth agaici, 
The flowers smile up to him from their low seats. 

Well hast thou borne the bleak March day of life 
Its storms and its keen winds to thee have been 
Most kindly tempered, and through all its gloom 
There has been warmth and sunshine in thy heart ; 
The griefs of life to thee have been like snows, 
That light upon the fields in early spring. 



ATT nrVITATION TO THE COIiNTEY, 265 

Making them greener. In its milder hours, 
Tlie smile of this pale season, thou hast seen, 
The glorious bloom of June, and in the note 
Of early bird, that comes a messenger 
From climes of endless verdure, thou hast heard 
The choir that fills the summer woods with song. 

Now be the hours that yet remain to thee 
Stormy or sunny, sympathy and love, 
That inextinguishably dwell within 
Thy heart, shall give a beauty and a light 
To the most desolate moments, like the glow 
Of a bright fireside in the wildest day ; 
And kindly words and offices of good 
Shall wait upon thy steps, as thou goest on. 
Where God shall lead thee, till thou roach the gates 
Of a more genial season, and thy path 
Be lost to human eye among the bowers 
And living fountains of a brighter land. 

March, 1855. 



AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY. 

Already, close by our summer dwelling, 
The Easter sparrow repeats her song; 

A merry warbler, she chides the blossoms — 
The idle blossoms that sleep so long. 

The blue-bird chants, from the elm's long branches, 
A hymn to welcome the budding year. 

The south wind wanders from field to forest. 
And softly whispers, " The Spring is here " 



266 LATEK POEMS. 

Come, daughter mine, from the gloomy city, 
Before those lays from the elm have ceased ; 

The violet breathes, by our door, as sweetly 
A a in the air of her native East. 

Though many a flower in the wood is waking. 
The daffodil is our doorsMe queen ; 

She pushes upward the sward already, 
To spot with sunshine the early green. 

No lays so joyous as these are warbled 
From wiry prison in maiden's bower ; 

No pampered bloom of the green-house chambei 
Has half the charm of the lawn's first flower. 

Yet these sweet sounds of the early season, 
And these fair sights of its sunny days 

Are only sweet when we fondly listen, 
And only fair when we fondly gaze. 

There is no glory in star or blossom 

Till looked upon by a loving eye ; 
There is no fragrance in April breezes 

Till breathed with joy as they wander by. 

Come, Julia dear, for the sprouting willows. 
The opening flowers, and the gleaming brooks, 

And hollows, green in the sun, are waiting 
Their dower of beauty from thy glad looks. 



▲ SOXG FOE NEW-TEAK S KVB. 267 



A SONG FOR NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 

SrAY yet, my friends, a moment stay — 

Stay till the good old year, 
So long companion of our way, 

Shakes hands, and leaves us here. 
Oh stay, oh stay, 
One little hour, and then away. 

The year, whose hopes were high and strong, 

Has now no hopes to wake ; 
Yet one hour more of jest and song 

For his familiar sake. 

Oh stay, oh stay, 
One mirthful hour, and then away. 

The kindly year, bis liberal hands 

Have lavished all his store. 
And shall we turn from where he stands, 

Because he gives no more ? 
Oh stay, oh stay, 
One grateful hour, and then away. 

Days brightly came and calmly went, 

While yet he was our guest ; 
How cheerfully the week was spent ! 

How sweet the seventli day's rest I 
Oh stay, oh stay. 
One golden hour, and theu away. 



Dear friends were with us, some who 
Beneath the coflSn-lid : 



ifift LATER POEMS 

Wliat pleasant memories we kt«p 
Of all they said aud did ! 
Oh stay, oh stay, 
One tender hour, and then away. 

Even while we siug, he smiles his last> 
Ajid leaves our sphere behind. 

The good old year is with the past ; 
Oh be the new as kind ! 
Oh stay, oh stay, 

One parting strain, and then away. 



THE WIND AND STREAM. 

A. BROOK came stealing from the ground , 
You scarcely saw its silvery gleam 

Among the herbs that hung around 
The borders of that winding stream, 

The pretty stream, the placid stream, 

The softly-gliding, bashful stream. 

A breeze came wandering from the sky, 
Light as the whispers of a dream ; 

He put the o'erhanging grasses by. 
And softly stooped to kiss the stream. 

The pretty stream, the flattered stream, 

The shy, yet unreluctant stream. 

The water, -as the wind passed o'er, 
Shot upward many a glancing beam, 

Dimpled and quivered more and more. 
And tripped along, a liveUer stream. 

The flattered stream, the simpering stream, 

The fond, delighted, silly stream. 



THE LOST BIED. 2f69 

Away the airy wanderer flew 

To where the fields with blossoms teem, 
To sparkling springs and rivers blue, 

And left alone that little stream, 
The flattered stream, the cheated stream, 
The sad, forsaken, lonely stream. 

That careless wind came never back ; 

He wanders yet the fields I deem. 
But, on its melancholy track. 

Complaining went that little stream, 
The cheated stream, the hopeless stream, 
The ever-murmuring, mourning stream. 



THE LOST BIRD. 

lEOM THE SPANISH OF CAROLINA CORONADO DE PERftt 

My bird has flown away. 
Far out of sight has flown, I know not where. 

Look in your lawn, I pray, 

Ye maidens, kind and fair, 
And see if my beloved bird be there. 

His eyes are full of light ; 

The eagle of the rock has such an eye ; 
And plumes, exceeding bright. 
Round his smooth temples lie. 

And sweet his voice and tender as a sigh. 

Look where the grass is gay 
With summer blossoms, haply there he cowers j 

And search, from spray to spray, 

The leafy laurel-bowers, 
For well he loves the laurels and the flowera. 



270 LATER P0EM8. 

Find him, but do not dwell, 
With eyes too fond, on the fair form you «ee, 

Nor love his song too well ; 

Send him, at once, to me. 
Or leave him to the ai.' and liberty. 

For only from my hand 
B.e takes the seed into his golden beak, 
And all unwiped shall stand 
The tears that wet my cheek. 
Till I have found the wanderer I seek. 

My sight is darkened o'er, 
Whene'er I miss his eyes, which are my day, 

And when I hear no more 

The music of his lay. 
My heart in utter sadness faints away. 



THE NIGHT JOURNEY OF A RIVER. 

Oil River, gentle River ! gliding on 
In silence underneath this starless sky ! 
Thine is a ministry that never rests 
Even while the living slumber. For a time 
The meddler, man, hath left the elements 
In peace ; the ploughman breaks the clods no more ; 
The miner labors not, with sf.eel and fire. 
To rend the rock, -and he that hews the stone, 
And he that fells the forest, he that guides 
The loaded wain, and the poor animal 
riiat drags it, have forgotten, for a time, 
^leir toils, and share the quiet of the earth 
Thou pausest not in thine allotted task. 



THE NIGHT JOTTRNEY (/P A RIVEB. 271 

Oh darkling Kiver ! Through the night I hear 

Thy wavelets rippling on the pebbly beach ; 

I hear thy current stir the rustling sedge, 

That skirts thy bed ; thou intermittest not 

Thine everlasting journey, drawing on 

A silvery train from many a woodland spring. 

And mountain-brook. The dweller by thy side, 

Who moored his little boat upon thy beach, 

Thoi 'gh all the waters that upbore it then 

Have slid away o'er night, shall find, at morn, 

Thy channel filled with waters freshly drawn 

From distant cliffs and hollows where the rill 

Comes up amid the water-flags. All night 

Thou givest moisture to the thirsty roots 

Of the lithe willow and o'erhanglng plane, 

And cherishest the herbage of thy bank, 

Spotted with little flowers, and sendest up 

Perpetually, the vapors from thy face. 

To steep the hills with dew, or darken heaven 

With drifting clouds, that trail the shadowy shower 

Oh River ! darkling River ! what a voice 
Is that thou utterest while all else is still — 
The ancient voice that, centuries ago. 
Sounded between thy hills, while Rome was yet 
A weedy solitude by Tiber's stream. 
How many, at this hour, along thy course. 
Slumber to thine eternal murraurings. 
That mingle with the utterance of their dreams ! 
At dead of night the child awakes and hears 
Thy soft, familiar dashings, and is soothed. 
And sleeps again. An airy multitude 
Of little echoes, all unheard by day. 
Faintly repeat, till morning, after thee. 
The story of thine endless goings forth. 

Yet there are those who lie beside thy bed 
For whom thou once didst rear the bowers that screei 
Thy margin, and didst water the green fields ; 
A.nd now there is no night so still that they 



272 LA TEE rOEMS. 

Can hear thy lapee ; their slumbers, were thy voice 
Louder than ocean's, it could never break. 
For them the early violet no more 
Opens upon thy bank, nor, for their eyes, 
Gutter the crimson pictures of the clouds, 
Upon thy bosom, when the sun goes down. 
Their memories are abroad, the memories 
Of those who last were gathered to the earth, 
Lingering within the homes in which they sat, 
Hovering above the paths in which they walked, 
Uauntiug them like a presence. Even now 
They visit many a dreamer in the forms 
They walked in, ere at last they wore the shroud. 
And eyes there are which will not close to dream. 
For weeping and for thinking of the grave. 
The new-made grave, and the pale one within. 
These memories and these sorrows all shall fade, 
And pass away, and fresher memories 
And newer sorrows come and dwell awhile 
Beside thy borders, and, in turn, depart. 

On glide thy waters, till at last they flow 
Beneath the windows of the populous town. 
And all night long give back the gleam of lamps, 
And glimmer with the trains of light that stream 
From halls where dancers whirl. A dimmer ray 
Touches thy surface from the silent room 
In which they tend the sick, or gather round 
The dying ; and a slender, steady beam 
Comes from the httle chamber, in the roof 
Where, with a feverous crimson on her cheek, 
The solitary damsel, dying, too, 
Plies the quick needle till the star? grow pale. 
There, close beside the haunts of revel, stand 
The blank, unUghted windows, where the poor, 
In hunger and in darkness, wake till morn. 
There, drowsily, on the half-conscious ear 
Of the dull watchman, pacing on the wharf, 
Falls the soft ripple of the waves that strike 



THE LIFE THAT IS. 373 

On the moored bark ; but guiltier listeners 
Are nigb, the prowlers of the night, who steal 
From shadowy nook to shadowy nook, and start 
If other sounds than thine are in the air. 

Oh, glide away from those abodes, that bring 
Pollution to thy channel and make foul 
Thy once clear current ; summon thy quick waves 
And dimpling eddies; linger not, but haste, 
With all thy waters, haste thee to the deep, 
There to be tossed by shifting winds and rocked 
By that mysterious force which lives within 
The sea's immensity, and wields the weight 
Of its abysses, swaying to and fro 
The billowy mass, until the stain, at length, 
Shall wholly pass away, and thou regain 
The crystal brightness of thy mountain-springs. 



THE LIFE THAT IS. 



Thou, who so long hast pressed the couch of pain, 
Oh welcome, welcome back to life's free breath— 

To life's free breath and day's sweet light again, 
From the chill shadows of the gate of death. 

For thou hadst reached the twilight bound between 
The world of spirits and this grosser sphere ; 

Dimly by thee the things of earth were seen. 
And faintly fell earth's voices on thine ear. 

And now, how gladly we behold, at last, 
The wonted smile returning to thy brow ; 

The very wind's low whisper, breathing past. 
In the Ugh* leaves, is music to thee now. 

18 



17\ LATER POBMS. 

i'liou wert not weary of thy lot ; the earth 
Was ever good and pleasant in thy sight ; 

Btill clung thy loves about the household hearth^ 
And sweet was every day's returning light. 



Then welcome back to al' thou wouldst not leave, 
To this grand march of seasons, days, and hours 

The glory of the morn, the glow of eve, 

The beauty of the streams, and stars, and flowera 



To eyes on which thine own delight to rest ; 

To voices which it is thy joy to hear; 
To the kind toils that ever pleased thee best, 

The willing tasks of love, that made life dear. 



Welcome to grasp of friendly hands ; to prayers 
Offered where crowds in reverent worship come, 

Or softly breathed amid the tender cares 
And loving inmates of thy quiet home. 

Thou bring'st no tidings of the better land. 

Even from its verge ; the mysteries opened there 
kre what the faithful heart may understand 
In its still depths, yet words may not declare. 

And well I deem, that, from the brighter side 
Of life's dim border, some o'erflowing rays 

Streamed from the inner glory, shall abide 
Upon thy spirit through the coming days. 

Twice wert thou given me ; once in thy fair prime, 
Fresh from the fields of youth, when first we met, 

Ind all the blossoms of that hopeful time 
Clustered and glowed where'er thy steps were seJ 



THESE PEAIEIES GLOW WITD FLO WEES. 275 

lud now, in thy ripe autumn, once again 
Given back to fervent prayers and yearnings strong, 

From the drear realm of sickness and of pain, 
When we had watched, and feared, and tremble*^' 
long. 

Now may we keep thee from the balmy air 
And radiant walks of heaven a little space. 

Where He, who went before thee to prepare 
For His meek followers, shall assign thy place. 

Uabtsllamabs, Jfay, 1868. 



SONG. 
"these prairies glow with flowers.* 

These prairies glow with flowers, 

These groves are tall and fair. 
The sweet lay of the mocking-bird 

Rings in the morning air ; 
And yet I pine to see 

My native hill once more. 
And hear the sparrow's friendly chirp 

Beside its cottage door. 

And h4, for whom I left 

My native hill and brook, 
Alas, I sometimes think I trace 

A coldness in his look. 
If I have lost his love, 

I know my heart will break ; 
And haply, they I left for him 

Will sorrow for my sake. 



27fl lATBE POEMA. 



A SICK-BED. 

Long hast thou watched my bed. 
And smoothed the pillow oft 

For this poor, aching head, 
With touches kind and soft. 

Oh ! smooth it yet again. 

As softly as before ; 
Once — only once — and then 

I need thy hand no more. 

Yet here I may not stay, 
Where I so long have lain, 

Through many a restless day 
And many a night of pain. 

But bear me gently forth 
Beneath the open sky. 

Where, on the pleasant earth, 
Till night the sunbeams lie. 

There, through the coming dajs 
I shall not look to thee 

My weary side to raise, 
And shift it tenderly. 

There sweetly shall I sleep ; 

Nor wilt thou need to bring 
And put to ray hot lip 

Cool water from the spring ; 

Nor wet the kerchief laid 
Upon my burning brow ; 



A SIOK-BED, 877 

Nor from my eyelids shade 

The light that wounds them now ; 

Nor watch that n'>ue shall tread. 

With noisy footstep, nigh : 
Nor listen by my bed, 

To hear my faintest sigh, 

And feign a look of cheer. 

And words of comfort speak, 
Yet turn to hide the tear 

That gathers on thy check. 

Beside me, where I rest, 

Thy loving hands will set 
The flowers that please me beet ; 

Moss-rose and violet. 

Then to the sleep I crave 

Eesign me, till I see 
The face of Him who gave 

His life for thee and me. 

Yet, with the setting sun. 

Come, now and then, at eve. 
And think of me as one 

For whom thou shouldst not grieve ; 

Who, when the kind release 

From sin and suffering came, 
Passed to the appointed peace 

In murmuring thy name. 

Leave at my side a space. 

Where thou shah come, at last, 

To find a resting-place. 

When many years are pas*. 



178 LATEE POEMfl. 



THE SONG OF THE SOWEK 



The maples redden in the sun ; 

In autumn gold the beeches stand ; 
Rest, faithful plough, thy work is done 

Upon the teeming land. 
Bordered with trees whose gay leaves fl 
On every breath that sweeps the sky 
The fresh dark acres furrowed lie, 

And ask the sower's hand. 
Loose the tired steer and let him go 
To pasture where the gentians blow, 
And we, who till the grateful ground. 
Fling we the golden shower around. 



II. 

Fling wide the generous grain ; we fling 
O'er the dark mould the green of spring. 
For thick the emerald blades shall grow, 
When first the March winds melt the snow 
And to the sleeping flowers, below, 

The early bluebirds sing. 
Fling wide the grain ; we give the fields 

The ears that nod in summer's gale. 
The shining stems that summer gilds, 

The harvest that o'erflows the vale, 
And swells, an amber sea, between 
The full-leaved woods, its shores of green. 
Hark ! iiom the murmuring clods 1 hear 
Glad voices of the coming ycai' ; 



THE SONG OF THE flOWEE. 279 

The song of him who binds the grain, 
The shout of those that load the wain, 
And from the distant grange there comea 

The clatter of the thresher's flail, 
And steadily the millstone hums 

Down in the willowy vale. 



III. 

Fling wide the golden shower ; we trust 
The strength of armies to tho dust. 
This peaceful lea may haply yield 
Its harvest for the tented field. 
Ha ! feel ye not your fingers thrill, 

As o'er them, in the yellow grams, 
Glide the warm drops of blood that fill, 
For mortal strife, the warrior's veins ; 
Such as, on Solferino's day. 
Slaked the brown sand and flowed away ; — 
Flowed till the herds, on Mincio's brink, 
Snuffed the red stream and feared to drink ; 
Blood that in deeper pools shall lie, 

On the sad earth, as time grows gray, 
When men by deadlier arts shall die. 
And deeper darkness blot the sky 

Above the thundering fray ; 
And realms, that hear the battle-cry, 

Shall sicken with dismay ; 
And chieftains to the war shall lead 
Whole nations, with the tempest's speed. 

To perish in a day ; — 
Till man, by love and mercy taught, 
Shall rue the wreck his fury wrought, 

And lay the sword away ! 
Oh strew, with pausing, shuddering hand, 
The seed upon the helpless land, 
As if, at every step, ye cast 
The pelting hail and riving blast 



iSO LATER POEMH. 



IT. 

Nay, strew, with ftce and joyous sweep, 

The seed upon the expecting soil ; 
For hence the {ih'iiteous year shall lie.ip 

The garners of the men who toil. 
Strew the bright seed for those who icar 
The matted sward with spade and share. 
And those whose sounding axes gleam 
Beside the lonely forest stream, 

Till its broad banks lie bare ; 
And him who breaks the quarry-ledge, 

With hammer-blows, plied quick and strong 
And him who, with the steady sledge, 

Smites the shrill anvil all day long. 
Sprinkle the furrow's even trace 

For those whose toiling hands uprear 
The roof-trees of our swarming race. 

By grove and plain, by stream and mere ; 
Who forth, from crowded city, lead 

The lengthening street, and overlay 
Green orchard-plot and grassy mead 

With pavement of the murmuring way 
Cast, with full hands, the harvest cast, 
For the brave men that climb the mast. 
When to the billow and the blast 

It swings and stoops, with fearful strain, 
And bind the fluttering mainsail fast. 

Till the tossed bark shall sit, again, 

Safe as a sea-bird on the main. 



V. 

Fling wide the grain for those who throw 
The clanking shuttle to and fro. 
In the long row of humming rooms, 
And into ponderous masses wind 



THE SONG OF THE SO WEE. 281 

The web that, from a thousand looms, 

Comes forth to clothe mankind. 
Strew, with free sweep, the grain for tbem. 

By whom the busy thread, 
Along the garment's even hem 

And winding seam is led ; 
A pallid sisterhood, that keep 

The lonely lamp alight. 
In strife with weariness and sleep, 

Beyond the middle night. 
Large part be theirs in what the year 
Shall ripen for the reaper here. 



VI. 

Still, strew, with joyous hand, the wheat 
On the soft mould beneath our feet, 

For even now I seem 
To hear a sound that hghtly rings 
From murmuring harp and viol's strings, 

As in a summer dream. 
The welcome of the wedding-guest, 

The bridegroom's look of bashful pride. 
The faint smile of the pallid bi'ide. 
And bridemaid's blush at matron's jest. 
And dance and song and generous dower 
Are in the shining grains we shower. 



VII. 

Scatter the wheat for shipwrecked men, 
Who, hunger- worn, rejoice again 

In the sweet safety of the shore. 
And wanderers, lost in woodlands drear, 
Whose pulses bound with joy to hear 

The herd's light bell once more. 

Freely the golden spray be shed 



282 LATER P0EM8. 

For him whose heart, when night come8 dowc 
On the close alleys of the town, 

Is faint for lack of bread. 
In chill roof-chambers, bleak and bare, 
Or the damp cellar's stifling air, 
She who now sees, in mute despair, 

Her children pine for food, 
ShaVl feel the dews of gladness start 
To lids long tearless, and shall part 
The sweet loaf with a grateful heart, 

Among her thin pale brood. 
Dear, kindly Earth, whose breast we till ! 
Oh, for thy famished children, fill, 

Where'er the sower walks. 
Fill the rich ears that shade the mould 
With grain for grain, a hundredfold, 

To bend the sturdy stalks. 

VIII. 

Strew silently the fruitful seed, 

As softly o'er the tilth ye tread. 
For hands that delicately knead 

The consecrated bread. 
The mystic loaf that crowns the board. 
When, round the table of their Lord, 

Within a thousand temples set, 
In memory of the bitter death 
Of Him who taught at Nazareth, 

His followers are met, 
And thoughtful eyes with tears are wet, 

As of the Holy One they think. 
The glory of whose rising, yet 

Makes bright the grave's mysterious brink. 

IX. 

Brethren, the sower's task is done. 
The eeed is in its winter bed. 



THB SONG OF THE SOWER. 283 

Now let the dark-brown mould be spitjad. 

To hide it from the sim, 
And leave it to the kindly care 
Of the still earth and brooding air. 
As when the mother, from her breast, 
liays the hushed babe apart to rest, 
And shades its eyes, and waits to see 
ITow sweet its waking smile will be. 
The tempest now may smite, the sleet 
All night on the drowned furrow beat, 
And winds that, from the cloudy hold. 
Of winter breathe the bitter cold, 
Stiffen to stone the mellow mould, 
Yet safe shall lie the wheat ; 
Till, out of heaven's unmeasured blue, 

Shall walk again the genial year, 
To wake with warmth and nurse with dev 

The germs we lay to slumber here. 



X. 



Oh blessed harvest yet to be ! 

Abide thou with the Love that keeps. 
In its warm bosom, tenderly. 

The Life which wakes and that which slee[»! 
The Love that leads the willing spheres 
Along the unending track of years 
And watches o'er the sparrow's nest, 
Shall brood above thy v/inter rest. 
And raise thee from the dust, to hold 

Light whisperings with the wind of May, 
And fill thy spikes with living gold. 

From summer's yellow ray ; 
Then, as thy gamers give thee forth, 

On what glad errands shalt thou go, 
Wherever, o'er the waiting earth, 

Roads wind and rivers flow ! 



284 LATER POEMS. 

Tlie ancient East shall welcome thee 

To mighty marts beyond the sea, 

And they who dwell where palm-groves souud 

To summer winds the whole year round, 

Shall watch, in gladness, from the shore, 

The sails that bring thy glistening store. 



THE NEW AND THE OLD. 

New are the leaves on the oaken spray, 
New the blades of the silky grass ; 

Flowers, that were buds but yesterday. 
Peep from the ground where'er I pass. 

These gay idlers, the butterflies. 

Broke, to-day, from their winter shroud, 

These soft airs, that winnow the skies. 
Blow, just born, from the soft, white cloud 

Gushing fresh in the little streams 
What a prattle the waters make ! 

Even the sun, with his tender beams, 

Seems as young as the flowers they wake 

Children are wading, with cheerful cries, 
In the shoals of the sparkhng brook, 

Laughing maidens, with soft, young eyes, 
Walk or ait in the shady nook. 

What am I doing, thus alone. 

In the glory of nature here, 
Silver-haired, like a snow-flake thrown 

On the greens of the springing year ? 



THE OLOTJD ON THE WAY. 286 

Only for brows unploughed by care, 
Eyes that glisten with hope and mirth, 

Cheeks unwrinkled, and unblanched hair, 
Shines this hoUday of the earth. 

Under the grass, with the clammy clay, 
Lie in darkness the last year's flowers. 

Born of a light that has passed away, 
Dews long dried and forgotten showers. 

" Under the grass is the fitting home," 
So they whisper, " for such as thou. 

When the winter of life is come, 

Chilling the blood, and frosting the brow." 



THE CLOUD ON THE WAY. 

Bee before us, in our journey, broods a mist upon the 

ground ; 
Thither leads the path we walk in, blending with that 

gloomy bound. 
Never eye hath pierced its shadows to the mystery 

they screen ; 
Those who once have passed within it never more on 

earth are seen. 
Now it seems to stoop beside us, now at seeming dis- 
tance lowers, 
Leaving banks that tempt us onward bright with 

summer-green and flowers. 
Yet it blots the way forever; there our journey ends 

at last ; 
Into that dark cloud we enter, and are gathered iQ 

the past. 



286 LATKE POEMB. 

Thou who, hi this flinty pathway, leadiug through > 

stranger laud, 
Passest down the rocky valley, walking with me hand 

in hand. 
Which of us shall be the soonest folded to that dim 

Unknown ? 
Which shall leave the other walking in this flinty path 

alone ? 
Even now I see thee shudder, and thy cheek is white 

with fear, 
And thou clingest to my side as comes that darkness 

sweeping near. 
*' Here," thou sayst, " the path is rugged, sown with 

thorns that wound the feet ; 
But the sheltered glens are lovely, and the rivulet's 

song is sweet ; 
Roses breathe from tangled thickets ; lilies bend from 

ledges brown ; 
Pleasantly between the pelting showers the sunshine 

gushes down ; 
Dear are those who walk beside us, they whose looks 

and voices make 
All this rugged region cheerful, till I love it for their sake. 
Far be yet the hour that takes me where that chilly 

shadow lies. 
From the things I know and love and from the sight 

of loving eyes." 
So thou raurmurest, fearful one; but see, we tread a 

rougher way ; 
Fainter grow the gleams of sunshine that upon the 

dark rocks play ; 
Rude winds strew the faded flowers upon the crags 

o'er which we pass ; 
Banks of verdure, when we reach them, hiss with tufta 

of withered grass. 
One by one we miss the voices which we loved so well 

to hear ; 
One by one the kindly faces in that shadow disappear. 



THE TIDES. 287 

Fet upon the mist before us fix thiue eyes witL closer 

view ; 
See, beneath its sullen skirts, the rosy morning glim 

mers through. 
One whose feet the thorns have wounded passed that 

barrier and came back, 
With a glory on His footsteps lighting yet the dreary 

track. 
Boldly enter where He entered ; all that seems but 

darkness here, 
When thou once hast passed beyond it, haply shall be 

crystal-clear. 
Viewed from that gerener realm, the walks of human 

life may lie, 
Like the page of some familiar volume, open to thine 

eye; 
Haply, from the overhanging shadow, thou mayst 

stretch an unseen hand. 
To support the wavering steps that print with blood 

the lugged land. 
Haply, leaning o'er the pilgrim, aU unweeting thou art 

near. 
Thou mayst whisper words of warning or of comfort 

in his ear, 
Till, beyond the border where that brooding mystery 

bars the sight, 
Those whom thou hast fondly cherished stand with 

thee in peace and light. 



THE TIDES. 



Thb moon is at her full, and, riding high, 
Floods the calm fields with light. 

The airs that hover in the summer-sky 
Are all asleep to-night. 



LATER POEMS. 

There comes no voice from the great woodlands round 

That murmured all the day ; 
Beneath the shadow of their boughs the ground 

Is not more still than they. 

But ever heaves and moans the restless Deep ; 

His rising tides I hear, 
Afar I see the glimmering billows leap ; 

I see them breaking near. 

Each wave springs upward, climbing toward the ffth 

Pure light that sits on high — 
Springs eagerly, and faintly sinks, to where 

The mother waters lie. 



Upward again it swells ; the moonbeams shoi^ 

Again its glimmering crest ; 
Again it feels the fatal weight below, 

And sinks, but not to rest. 

Again and yet again ; until the Deep 

Recalls his brood of waves ; 
And, with a sullen moan, abashed, they creep 

Back to his inner caves. 

Brief respite ! they shall rush from that recess 

With noise and tumult soon. 
And fling themselves, with unavailing stress, 

Up toward the placid moon. 

Gh, restless Sea, that, in thy prison here, 

Dost struggle and complain ; 
Through the slow centuries yearning to be neaf 

To that fair orb in vain ; 



iTALr. 28P 

The glorious source of light and heat must warm 

Thy billows from on high, 
A.nd change them to the cloudy trains that form 

The curtains of the sky. 



Then only may they leave the waste of brinfl 

In which they welter here, 
Ind rise above the hills of earth, and shine 

In a serener sphere. 



ITALY. 



Voices from the mountains speak , 

Apennines to Alps reply ; 
Vale to vale and peak to peak 
Toss an old-remembered cry : 
" Italy 

Shall be free ! " 
Such the mighty shout that fills 
All the passes of her hills. 

All the old Italian lakes 

Quiver at that quickening word 
Como with a thrill awakes ; 
Garda to h er depths is stirred, j 
Mid the steeps 
Where he sleeps, 
Dreaming of the elder years, 
Startled Thrasvmenus hears. 

19 



?90 LATEE POEMS. 

Sweeping Arno, swelling Po, 

Murmur freedom to their meads. 
Tiber swift and Liris slow 

Send strange whispers from their rceds, 
Italy 

Shall be free. 
Sing the glittering brooks that slide, 
Toward the sea, from Etna's side. 



Long ago was Gracchus slain ; 

Brutus perished long ago ; 
Yet the living roots remain 
Whence the shoots of greatness grow. 
Yet again, 
Godlike men, 
Sprung from that heroic stem, 
Call the land to rise with them. 



They who haunt the swarming street, 
They who chase the mountain boar 
Or, where cliff and billow meet. 
Prune the vine or pull the oar. 
With a stroke 
Break their yoke ; 
Slaves but yestereve were they — 
Freemen with the dawning day. 



Looking in his children's eyes, 

While his own with gladness flash, 
" These,"- the Umbrian father cries, 
" Ne'er shall crouch beneath the lash J 
These shall ne'er 
Brook to wear 
Chains whose cruel links are twinea 
Round the crushed and withering mind.*' 



A DAY-DESAM. 291 

Monarclis ! ye whose armies stand 

Harnessed for the battle-field ! 
Pause, and from the lifted hand 
Drop the bolts of war ye wield. 
Stand aloof 
While the proof 
Of the people's might is given ; 
Leave their kings to them and heaven. 

Stand aloof, and see the oppressed 

Chase the oppressor, pale with fear, 
As the fresh winds of the west 
Blow the misty valleys clear. 
Stand and see 
Italy 
Cast the gyves she wears no more 
To the gulfs that steep her shore. 



A DAY-DREAM. 



A DAY-DREAM by the dark-blue deep , 
Was it a dream, or something more ? 

[ sat where Posilippo's steep, 
With its gray shelves, o'erhung the ehoT^ 



On ruined Roman walls around 
The poppy flaunted, for 'twas May ; 

And at my feet, with gentle sound, 
Broke the light billows of the bay 



292 LATEB POEMS. 

I sat and watched the eternal flow 

Of those smooth billows toward the shore, 

While quivermg lines of light below, 
Ran with them on the ocean-floor. 



Till, from the deep, there seemed to rise 
White arms upon the waves outspread, 

Young faces, lit with soft blue eyes, 

And smooth, round cheeks, just touched with tdn\ 



Their long, fair tresses, tinged with gold, 
Lay floating on the ocean-streams, 

And such their brows as bards behold — 
Love-stricken bards, in morning dreams. 

Then moved their coral lips ; a strain 
Low, sweet, and sorrowful I heard, 

As if the murmurs of the main 
Were shaped to syllable and word. 

" The sight thou dimly dost behold, 
Oh, stranger from a distant sky ! 

Was often, in the days of old. 
Seen by the clear, believing eye. 

" Then danced we on the wrinkled sand, 
Sat in cool caverns by the sea, 

Or wandered up the bloomy land, 
To talk with shepherds on the lea. 

" To us, in storms, the seaman prayed, 
And where our rustic altars stood. 

His little children came and laid 

The fairest flowers of field and wood. 



A DAY-DREAM. 298 



** Oh woe, a long, unending woe ! 

For who shall knit the ties again 
That linked the sea-nymphs, long ago, 

In kindly fellowship with men ? 



" Earth rears her flowers for us no more 
A half-remembered dream are we. 

Unseen we haunt the sunny shore, 
And swim, unmarked, the glassy sea 

" And we have none to love or aid, 
But wander, heedless of mankind, 

With shadows by the cloud-rack made, 
With moanifig wave and sighing wind. 

" Yet sometimes, as in elder days. 
We come before the painter's eye. 

Or fix the sculptor's eager gaze, 
With no profaner witness nigh. 

"And then the words of men grow warm 
With praise and wonder, asking where 

The artist saw the perfect form 
He copied forth in lines so fair." 

As thus they spoke, with wavering sweep 
Floated the graceful forms away; 

Dimmer and dimmer, through tlie deep, 
I saw the white arms gleam and plav. 

Fainter and famter, on mine ear, 
Fell the soft accents of their speech, 

Till I, at last, could only hear 
The waves run murmuring up the beacL 



894 l^TER POEMS. 



THE RUINS OF ITALICA 

FROM THE SPANISH OF RIOJA. 
I. 

Fabius, this region, desolate and drear, 
These solitary fields, this shapeless mound, 
Were once Italica, the far-renowned ; 
For Scipio, the miglity, planted here 
His conquering colony, and now, o'erthrovvu, 
Lie its once dreaded walls of massive stone. 
Sad relics, sad and vain, 
Of those invincible men 
Who held the region then. 
Funereal memories alone remain 

Where forms of high exaui[)le walked of yore. 
Here lay the forum, there arose the fane, 

The eye beholds their places, and no more. 
Their proud gymnasium and their sumptuous baths, 
Resolved to dust and cinders, strew the paths ; 
Their towers, that looked defiance at tl)e sky. 
Fallen by their own vast weight, in fragments lie 



This broken circus, where the rock-weeds climb, 
Flaunting with yellow blossoms, and defy 
The gods to whom its walls were piled so high. 
Is now a tragic theatre, where Time 
Actp his great fable, spreads a stage that shon-e 
Past grandeur's story and its dreary close. 
Why, round this desert pit. 
Shout not the applauding row,- 
Where the great people sit ^ 



THE KUINS OF ITALIOA. 29E 

Wild beasts are here, but where the combatant, 
With his bare arms, tiie strong athleta where ? 

All have departed from this once gay haunt 
Of noisy crowds, and silence holds the air. 

Vet, on this spot, Time gives us to behold 

A spectacle as stern as those of old. 

As dreamily I gaze, there seem to rise, 

From all the mighty ruin, wailing cries. 



III. 

The terrible in war, the pride of Spain, 

Trajan, his country's father, here was born ; 
Good, fortunate, triumphant, to whose reign 

Submitted the far regions, where the morn 
Rose from her cradle, and the shore whose steeps 
O'erlooUed the conquered Gaditanian deeps. 
Of mighty Adrian here. 
Of Theodosius, saint. 
Of Sihus, Virgil's peer. 
Were rocked the cradles, rich with gold, and quam4 
With ivory carvings ; here were laurel-boughs 
And sprays of jasmine gathered for their browfl, 

From gardens now a marshy, thorny waste. 
Where rose the palace, reared for Csesar, yawn 

Foul rifts to which the scudding lizards haste. 
Palaces, gardens, Csesars, all are gone, 
And even the stones their names were graven on. 



IV. 

Fabius, if tears prevent thee not, survey 
The long-dismantled streets, so thronged of old, 

The broken marbles, arches in decay, 
Proud statues, toppled from their place and rolled 

In dust, when Nemesis, the avenger, came, 
And buried, in forgetfulncss p-ofound, 



296 LATER POEMS. 

The owners ani their fame. 
Thus Troy, I deem, must be, 
With many a mouldering mound ; 

A.nd thou, whose name alone remains to thee, 

Rome, of old gods and kings the native ground ; 

And thou, sage Athens, built by Pallas, whom 

Just laws redeemed not from the appointed doom. 

Tlie envy of earth's cities once wert thou, — 

A weary solitude and ashes now. 

For fate and death respect ye not : they strike 

The mighty city and the wise alike. 

V. 

But why goes forth the wandering thought to frame 
New themes of sorrow, sought in distant lands ? 
Enough the example that before me stands ; 
For here are smoke-wreaths seen, and glimmeriDg 

flame, 
And hoarse lamentings on the breezes die ; 
So doth the mighty ruin cast its spell 
On those who near it dwell. 
And under night's still sky, 
As awe-struck peasants tell, 
A melancholy voice is heard to cry, 
" Italica is fallen ; " the echoes then 
Mournfully shout " Italica " again. 

The leafy alleys of the forest nigh 
Murmur " Italica," and all around, 
A troop of mighty shadows, at the sound 
Of that illustrious name, repeat the call, 
"■ Italica I " &om ruined tower and wall. 



WAITING BY THE GATE. 29? 



WAITING BY THE GATE. 

Bkside a massive gateway built up in years gone by, 
Upon whose top the clouds in eternal shadow lie, 
While streams the evening sunshine on quiet wooii 

and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me. 

The tree-tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze's flight, 
A soft and soothing sound, yet it whispers of the 

night ; 
I hear the woodlhrush piping one mellow descanl 

more. 
And scent the flowers that blow when the heat of day 

is o'er. 

Behold the portals open, and o'er the threshold, now, 
There steps a weary one with a pale and furrowed 

brow ; 
His count of years is full, his allotted task is wrought ; 
He passes to his rest from a place that needs him not. 

In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets the hour 
Of human strength and action, man's courage and his 

power. 
I muse while still the woodthrush sings down the 

golden day, 
And as I look and listen the sadness wears away. 

Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing, throws 
A look of longing backward, and sorrowfully goes ; 
A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from her hair, 
Moves mournfully away from amidst the young and 
'air. 

20 



LATEK POEMS. 

Oh glory of our race that so suddenly decays ! 

Oh crimson flush of morning that darkens as we gaze! 

Oh breath of summer blossoms that on the restless 

air 
Scatters a moment's sweetness, and flies we know not 

where ! 

I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then 

withdrawn ; 
But still the sun shines round me : the evening bird 

sings on, 
And I again am soothed, and, beside the ancient gate, 
In this soft evening sunlight, I cahnly stand and wait. 

Once more the gates are opened ; an infant group go 

out, 
The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled the 

sprightly shout. 
Oh frail, frail ti'ee of Life, that upon the greensward 

strows 
Its fair young buds unopened, with every wind thai 

blows ! 

So come from every region, so enter, side by side. 

The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and men of 
pride. 

Steps of earth's great and mighty, between those pil- 
lars gray, 

And prints of little feet, mark the dust along the way. 

And some approach the thre&hold whose looks are 
blank with fear, 

And some whose temples brighten with joy in draw- 
ing near. 

As if they saw dear faces, and caught the gracious 
eye 

Of Him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us to die 



NOT YET. 299 

I mark the joy, the terror ; yet these, within mj tieart, 
Can neither wake the dread nor the longing to depart ; 
And, in the sunshine streaming on quiet wood and 

lea, 
\ stand and calmly 'wait till the hinges turn for mc 



NOT YET. 



Oh country, marvel of the earth ! 

Oh realm to sudden greatness grown ! 
The age that gloried in thy birth. 

Shall it behold thee overthrown ? 
Shall traitors lay that greatness low ? 
No, land of Hope and Blessing, No ! 

And we, who wear thy glorious name. 
Shall we, like cravens, stand apart, 

When those whom thou hast trusted aun 
The death-blow at thy generous heart ? 

Forth goes the battle-cry, and lo ! 

Hosts rise in harness, shouting, No ! 

And they w4io founded, in our land, 
The power that rules from sea to sea, 

Bled they in vain, or vainly planned 
To leave their country great and free ? 

Their sleeping ashes, from below, 

Send up the thrilling murmur, No ! 

Knit they the gentle ties which long 
These sister States were proud to wear, 

k ud forged the kindly links so strong 
For idle hands in sport to tear ? 



JOO LATEE POEMS. 

For scornful hands aside to throw? 
No, by our father's memory, No ! 

Our hmnming marts, our iron ways, 

Our wind-tossed woods on mountain creHt 

The hoarse Atlantic, with its bays. 
The calm, broad Ocean of the West, 

And Mississippi's torrent-flow. 

And loud Niagara, answer, No ! 

Not yet the hour is nigh when they 
Who deep in Eld's dim twilight sit, 

Earth's ancient kings, shall rise and say, 
" Proud country, welcome to the pit ! 

So soon art thou, like us, brought low ! '* 

No, sullen group of shadows. No ! 

For now, behold, the arm that gave 

The victory in our fathers' day, 
Strong, as of old, to guard and save — 

That mighty arm which none can stay- 
On clouds above and fields below. 
Writes, in men's sight, the answer, No ' 

S»Jj^, 186L 



OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. 

Lay down the axe ; fling by the spade ; 

Leave in its track the toiling plough ; 
The rifle and the bayonet-blade 

For arras like vours were fitter now ; 



orE ootintet's call. 301 

A.ad let the hands that ply the pen 
Quit the light task, atid learn to wield 

The horseman's crooked brand, and rein 
The charger on the battle-field. 

Our country calls ; away ! away ! 

To where the blood-stream blots the green 
Strike to defend the gentlest sway 

That Time in all his course has seen. 
See, from a thousand coverts — see, 

Spring the armed foes that haunt her track 
They rush to smite her down, and we 

Must beat the banded traitors back. 

Ho ! sturdy as the oaks ye cleave, 

And moved as soon to fear and flight, 
Men of the glade and forest ! leave 

Your woodcraft for the field of fight. 
The arms that wield the axe must pour 

An iron tempest on the foe ; 
His serried ranks shall reel before 

The arm that lays the panther low. 

And ye, who breast the mountain- storm 

By grassy steep or highland lake. 
Come, for the land ye love, to form 

A bulwark that no foe can break. 
Stand, like your own gray cliffs that mock 

The whirlwind, stand in her defence ; 
The blast as soon shall move the rock 

As rushing squadrons bear ye thence. 

And ye, whose homes are by her grand 

Swift rivers, rising far away. 
Come from the depth of her green land, 

As mighty in your march as they ; 
A.S terrible as when the rains 

Have swelled them over bank and bourne, 



S02 LATER POEMB. 

With Dudden floods to drown the plaint 
And sweep along the woods uptorn. 

And ye, who throng, beside the deep, 

Her ports and hamlets of the strand, 
In number like the waves that leap 

On his long murmuring marge of sand, 
Come, like that deep, when, o'er his brim, 

He rises, all his floods to pour, 
And flings the proudest barks that swim, 

A helpless wreck, against his shore. 

Few, few were they whose swords of old 

Won the fair land in which we dwell ; 
But we are many, we who hold 

The grim resolve to guard it well. 
Strike, for that broad and goodly land, 

Blow after blow, till men shall see 
That Might and Right move hand in hand, 

And glorious must their triumph be ! 

September, 1861. 



THE CONSTELLATIONS. 

Oh, Constellations of the early night 

That sparkled brighter as the twilight died, 

And made the darkness glorious ! I have seea 

Your rays grow dim upon the horizon's edge. 

And sink behind the mountains. I have seen 

The great Orion, with bis jewelled belt, 

That large-limbed warrior of the skies, go dowB 

Into the gloom. Beside him sank a crowd 

Of shining ones. I look in vain to find 



THE 0ON8TELLA.TION8. 308 

The group of sister-stars, which raotliers love 
To show their wondering babes, the gentle Se^^en, 
Along the desert space mine eyes in vain 
Seek the resplendent cressets which the Twins 
Uplifted in their ever-youthful hands. 
The streaming tresses of the Egyptian Queen 
Spangle the heavens no more. The Virgin trails 
No more her glittering garments through the blue. 
Gone ! all are gone ! and the forsaken Night, 
With all her winds, in all her dreary wastes, 
Sighs that they shine upon her face no more. 

Now only here and there a little star 
Looks forth alone. Ah me ! I know them not, 
Those dim successors of the numberless host 
That filled the heavenly fields, and flung to earth 
Their quivering fires. And now the middle watch 
Betwixt the eve and morn is past, and still 
The darkness gains upon the sky, and still 
It closes round my way. Shall, then, the Night, 
Grow starless in her later hours ? Have these 
No train of flaming watchers, that shall mark 
Their coming and farewell ? Oh Sons of Light ! 
Have ye then left me ere the dawn of day 
To grope along my journey sad and faint ? 

Thus I complained, and from the darkness round 
A voice replied — was it indeed a voice. 
Or seeming accents of a waking dream 
Heard by the inner ear ? But thus it said : 
Oh, Traveller of the Night ! thine eyes are dim 
With watching ; and the mists, that chill the vale 
Down which thy feet are passing, hide from view 
The ever-burning stars. It is thy sight 
That is so dark, and not the heavens. Thine eyea< 
Were they but clear, would see a fiery host 
Above thee ; Hercules, with flashing mace, 
The Lyre with silver chords, the Swan uppoised 
On gleaming wings, the Dolphin gliding on 
With glistening scales, and that poetic steed. 



i04 LATEE POEMS. 

With beamy mane, whose hoof struck oat fro/n ea^l^ 

The fount of Hippocrene, and many more, 

Fair clustered splendors, with whose rays the Night 

Shall close her march in glory, ere she yield. 

To the young Day, the great earth steeped in dew. 

So spake the monitor, and I perceived 
How vain were my repuiings, and my thought 
Went backward to the vanished years and all 
The good and great who came and passed with thenij 
And knew that ever would the years to come 
Bring with them, in their course, the good and great, 
Lights of the world, though, to my clouded sight, 
Their rays might seem but dim, or reach me not. 



THE THIRD OF NOVEMBER, 1861. 

Softly breathes the west-wind beside the ruddy 
forest. 
Taking leaf by leaf from the branches where he 
flies. 
Sweetly streams the sunshine, this third day of No 
vember. 
Through the golden haze of the quiet autumn skies. 



Tenderly the season has spared the grassy meadows, 
Spared the petted flowers that the old world gave 
the new. 
Spared the autumn-rosp and the garden's group of 
pansies, 
Late-blown dandelions and periwinkles blue. 



THE THIRD OF NOTEMBEE, 1861. 305 

On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes un- 
gathered ; 
Children fill the groves with the echoes of their 
glee, 
(gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when beside 
them 
Drops the heavy fruit of the tall black-walnut tree. 

Glorious are the woods iu their latest gold and crimson, 
Yet our full-leaved willows are in their freshest 
green. 
Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing 

With the growths of summer, I never yet have 
seen. 

Like this kindly season may life's decline come o'er 
me; 
Past is» manhood's summer, the frosty months are 
here; 
Tet be genial airs and a pleasant sunshine left me, 
Leaf, and fniit, and blossom, to mark the closing 
year. 

Dreary is the time when the flowers of earth are 
withered ; 
Dreary is the time when the woodland leaves are 
cast, 
When, upon the hillside, all hardened into iron. 
Howling, like a wolf, flies the famished northern 
blast. 

Dreary are the years when the eye can look no longer 

With delight on nature, or hope on human kind ; 
Oh may those that whiten my temples, as they past 
me, 
Leave the heart unfrozen, and spare the cheerful 
mind t 
30 



306 LATEB POEMS. 



THE MOTHER'S HYMN. 

Lord, who ordainest for mankind 
Benignant toils and tender cares ! 

We thank Thee for tlie ties that bind 
The mother to the child she bears. 

We thank Thee for the hopes that rise, 
Within her heart, as, day by day. 

The dawning soul, from those young eyem^ 
Looks, with a clearer, steadier ray. 

And grateful for the blessing given 
With that dear infant on her knee, 

She trains the eye to look to heaven, 
The voice to lisp a prayer to Thee. 

Such thanks the blessed Mary gave, 
When, from her lap, the Holy Child 

Sent from on high to seek and save 

The lost of earth, looked up and smiled. 

All-Gracious! grant, to those who bear 
A mother's charge, the strength and ligli! 

To lead the steps that own their care 
In ways of Love, and Truth, and Right 



SELLA. 807 



SELLA. 

Hbab now a legend of the days of old — 
The days when there were goodly marvels yet, 
When man to man gave willing faith, and loved 
A tale the better that 'twas wild and strange. 

Beside a pleasant dwelling ran a brook 
Scudding along a narrow channel, paved 
With green and yellow pebbles ; yet full clear 
Its waters were, and colorless and cool, 
As fresh from granite rocks. A maiden oft 
Stood at the open window, leaning out. 
And listening to the sound the water made, 
A sweet, eternal murmur, still the same. 
And not the same ; and oft, as spring came on, 
She gathered violets from its fresh moist bank. 
To place within her bower, and when the herbs 
Of summer drooped beneath the mid-day sun, 
She sat within the shade of a great rock. 
Dreamily listening to the streamlet's song. 

Ripe were the maiden's years ; her stature showed 
Womanly beauty, and her clear, calm eye 
Was bright with venturous spirit, yet her face 
Was passionless, like those by sculptor graved 
For niches in a temple. Lovers oft 
Had wooed her, but she only laughed at love, 
And wondered at the silly things they said. 
'Twas her delight to wander where wild vines 
O'erhang the river's brim, to climb the path 
Of woodland streamlet to its mountain-springs, 
To sit by gleaming wells and mark below 
The image of the rushes on its edge, 
And, deep beyond, the trailing clouds that slid 
A.eros3 the fair blue space No little fount 



508 LATEK rOEM-t. 

Stole forth from hanging rock, or in the side 

Of hollow dell, or under roots of oak, 

No rill came tricklinp;, with a stripe of green, 

Down the bare hill, that to this maiden's eye 

Was not familiar. Often did the banks 

Of river or of sylvan lakelet hear 

The dip of oars with which the maiden rowed 

Her shallop, pushing ever from the prow 

A crowd of long, light ripples toward the shore. 

Two brothers had the maiden, and she thought, 
Within herself: "I would I were like them ; 
For then I might go forth alone, to trace 
The mighty rivers downward to the sea. 
And upward to the brooks that, through the year, 
Prattle to the cool valleys. I would know 
What races drink their waters ; how their chiefs 
Bear rule, and how men worship there, and how 
They build, and to what quaint device they frame, 
Where sea and river meet, their stately sliips ; 
What flowers are in their gardens, and what trees 
Bear fruit within their orchards ; in what garb 
Their bowmen meet on holidays, and how 
Their maidens bind the waist and braid the hair. 
Here, on these hills, my father's house o'erlooks 
Broad pastures grazed by flocks and herds, but there 
I hear they sprinkle the great plains with corn 
And watch its springing up, and when the green 
Is changed to gold, they cut the stems and bring 
The harvest in, and give the nations bread. 
And there they hew the quarry into shafts, 
And pile up glorious temples from the rock, 
And chisel the rude stones to shapes of men. 
All this I pine to see, and would have seen, 
But that I am a woman, long ago." 

Thus in her wanderings did the maiden dream, 
Dntil, at length, one morn in early spring, 
When all the glistening fields lay white with frost 
Bhe came half breathless where her mother sat: 



SELLA. 309 

*See, mothei dear," she said, " what I have found, 

Upon our rivulet's bank ; two slippers, white 

\s the midwinter snow, and spangled o'er 

With twinkling points, like stars, and on the edge 

My n|arae is wrought in silver ; read, I pray, 

Sella, the name thy mother, now in heaven, 

Gave at my birth ; and sure, they fit my feet ! " 

'' A dainty pair," the prudent matron said, 

'* But thine they are not. We must lay them by 

For those, whose careless hands have left them here ; 

Or haply they were placed beside the brook 

To be' a snare. I cannot see thy name 

Upon the border, — only characters 

Of mystic look and dim are there, like signs 

Of some strange art ; nay, daughter, wear them not." 

Then Sella hung the slippers in the porch 
Df that broad rustic lodge, and all who passed. 
Admired their fair contexture, but none knew 
Who left them by the brook. And now, at length. 
May, with her flowers and singing birds, had gone, 
And on bright streams and into deep wells shone 
The high, midsummer sun. One day, at nooo, 
Sella was missed from the accustomed meal. 
Tliey sought her in her favorite haunts, they looked 
By the great rock, and far along the stream. 
And shouted in the sounding woods her name. 
Night came, and forth the sorrowing household wej t 
With torches over the wide pasture-grounds 
To pool and thicket, marsh and briery dell, 
Aud solitary valley far away. 
The morning came, and Sella was not found. 
rh( sun climbed high ; they sought her still ; th« 

noon, 
The hot and silent noon, heard Sella's name, 
Uttered with a despairing cry, to wastes 
O'er which the eagle hovered. As the sun 
St Doped toward the amber west to bring the close 
01' that Sad second day, and, with red eyes, 



ilO LATEK POEMS. 

The mother sat within her home alone, 

Sella was at her side. A shriek of joy 

Broke the sad silence ; glad, warm tears were shed, 

And words of gladness uttered. " Oh, forgive,'* 

The maiden said, " that I could e'er forget 

Thy wishes for a moment. I just tried 

The sHppers on, amazed to see them shaped 

So fairly to my feet, when, all at once, 

I felt my steps upborne and hurried on 

Almost as if with wings. A strange delight, 

Blent with a thrill of fear, o'ermastered me. 

And, ere I knew, my plashing steps were set 

Within the rivulet's pebbly bed, and I 

Was rushing down the current. By my siue 

Tripped one as beautiful as ever looked 

From white clouds in a dream ; and, as we ran, 

She talked with musical voice and sweetly laughed 

Gayly we leaped the crag and sv.am the pool, 

And swept with dimpling eddies round the rock, 

And glided between shady meadow-banks. 

The streamlet, broadening as we went, became 

A swelling river, and we shot along 

By stately towns, and under leaning masts 

Of gallant barks, nor lingered by the shore 

Of blooming gardens ; onward, onward still, 

The same strong impulse bore me till, at last, 

We entered the great deep, and passed below 

His billows, into boundless spaces, lit 

With a green sunshine. Here were mighty groves 

Far down the ocean-valleys, and between 

Lay what might seem fair meadows, softly tinged 

With orange and with crimson. Here arose 

Tall stems, that', rooted in the depths below, 

Swung idly with the motions of the sea ; 

And here were shrubberies in whose mazy screen 

The creatures of the deep made haunt. My friend 

Named the strange growths, the pretty eoralUne, 

rUe du',se with crimson leaves, and, streaming far, 



SELLA. 311 

Sea-thoBg and sea-lace. Here the tangle spread 
Its broad, thick fronds, with pleasant bowers beneath ; 
And oft we trod a waste of pearly sands, 
Spotted with rosy shells, and thence looked in 
At caverns of the sea whose rock-roofed halls 
Lay in blue twilight. As we moved along. 
The dwellers of the deep, in mighty herds, 
Passed by us, reverently they passed us by. 
Long trains of dolphins rolling through the brine, 
Huge whales, that drew the waters after them, 
A torrent-stream, and hideous hammer-sharks, 
Chasing their prey ; I shuddered as they came ; 
Gently they turned aside and gave us room." 

Hereat broke in the mother, " Sella, dear. 
This is a dream, the idlest, vainest dream." 

" Nay, mother, nay ; behold this sea-green scarf, 
Woven of such threads as never human hand 
Twined from the distaff. She who led my way 
Through the great waters, bade xue wear it home, 
A token that my tale is true. ' And keep,' 
She said, *■ the slippers thou hast found, for thou, 
When shod with them, shalt be like one of us, 
With power to walk at will the ocean-floor, 
Among its monstrous creatures, unafraid, 
And feel no longing for the air of heaven 
To fill thy lungs, and send the warm, red blood 
Along thy veins. But thou shalt pass the hours 
In dances with the sea-nymphs, ov go forth. 
To look into the mysteries of the abyss 
Where never plummet reached. And thou shalt sleep 
Thy weariness away on downy banks 
Of sea-moss, where the pulses of the tide 
Shall gently lift thy hair, or thou shalt float 
On the soft currents that go forth and wind 
From isle to isle, and wander through the sea,' 

" So spake my fellow- voyager, her words 
Sounding like wavelets on a summer shore. 
And then we stopped beside a hanging rock 



812 LATER POEMS. 

With a smooth beach of white sands at its foot, 
Whore three fair creatures like herself were set 
At their sea-banquet, crisp and juicy stalks, 
Culled from the ocean's meadows, and the sweet 
Midrib of pleasant leaves, and golden fruits 
Dropped from the trees that edge the southern isleSj 
And gathered on the waves. Kindly they prayed 
That I would share their meal, and I partook 
With eager appetite, for long had been 
My journey, and I left the spot refreshed. 

"And then we wandered off amid the groves 
Of coral loftier than the growths of earth ; 
The mightiest cedar lifts no trunk like theirs, 
So huge, so high, toward heaven, nor overhangs 
Alleys and bowers so dim. We moved between 
Pinnacles of black rock, which, from beneath, 
Alolten by inner fires, so said my guide. 
Gushed long ago into the hissing brine, 
That quenched and hardened them, and now thej 

stand 
Motionless in the currents of the sea 
That part and flow around them. As we went, 
We looked into the hollows of the abyss. 
To which the never-resting waters sweep 
The skeletons of sharks, the long white spines 
Of narwhale and of dolphin, bones of men 
Shipwrecked, and mighty ribs of foundered barks. 
Down the blue pits we looked, and hastened on. 

" But beautiful the fountains of the sea 
Sprang upward from its bed ; the silvery jets 
Shot branching far into the azure brine. 
And where they mingled with it, the great deep 
Quivered and shook, as shakes the glimmering air 
Above a furnace. So we wandered through 
The mighty world of waters, till at length 
I wearied of its wonders, and my heart 
Began to yearn for my dear mountain-home. 
[ prayed my gentle guide to lead me back 



SELLA. 315 

To the upper air. * A glorious realm,' I said, 
* Is this thou openest to me ; but I stray 
Bewildered in its vastness ; these strange sights 
A.nd this strange light oppress me. I must see 
The faces that I love, or I shall die.' 

"She took my hand, and, darting through tht 
waves. 
Brought me to where the stream, by which we carae» 
Rushed into the main ocean. Then began 
A slower journey upward. Wearily 
We breasted the strong current, climbing through 
The rapids tossing high their foam. The night 
Came down, and, in the clear depth of a pool. 
Edged with o'erhanging rock, we took our rest 
Till morning ; and I slept, and dreamed of home 
And thee. A pleasant sight the morning showed ; 
The green fields of this upper world, the herds 
That grazed the bank, the light on the red clouds, 
The trees, with all their host of trembling leaves, 
Lifting and lowering to the restless wind 
Their branches. As I woke I saw them all 
From the clear stream ; yet strangely was my heart 
Parted between the watery world and this, 
And as we journeyed upward, oft I thought 
Of marvels I had seen, and stopped and turned, 
And lingered, till I thought of thee again; 
And then again T turned and clambered up 
The rivulet's murmuring path, until we came 
Beside this cottage door. There tenderly 
My fair conductor kissed me, and I saw 
Her face no more. I took the slippers off. 
Oh ! with what deep delight my lungs drew in 
The air of heaven again, and with what joy 
I felt my blood bound with its former glow ; 
And now I never leave thy side again ! " 

So spoke the maiden Sella, with large teara 
Standing in her mild eyes, and in the porch 
Replaced the slippers. Autumn canxe and went : 



il4 LATER P0KM8. 

The winter passed ; anotlier summer warmed 

The quiet pools ; another autumn tinged 

The grape with red, yet while it hung unpluc&cd. 

The mother ere her time was carried forth 

To sleep among the solitary hills. 

A long, still sadness settled ou that home 
Among the mountains. The stern father there 
Wept with his children, and grew soft of heart, 
And Sella, and the brothers twain, and one 
Younger than they, a sister fair and shy. 
Strewed the new grave with flowers, and round it aet 
Shrubs that all winter held their lively green. 
Time passed ; the grief with which their hearts were 

wrung 
Waned to a gentle sorrow. Sella, now. 
Was often absent from the patriarch's board ; 
The slippers hung no longer in the porch ; 
And sometimes after summer nights her couch 
Was found unpressed at dawn, and well they knew 
That she was wandering with the race who make 
Their dwelling in the waters. Oft her looks 
Fixed on blank space, and oft the ill-suited word 
Told that her thoughts were far away. In vain 
Her brothers reasoned with her tenderly. 
" Oh leave not thus thy kindred ! " so they prayed ,• 
" Dear Sella, now that she who gave us birth 
Is in her grave, oh go not heuce, to seek 
Companions in that strange cold realm below, 
For which God made not us nor thee, but stay 
To be the grace and glory of our home." 
She looked at them with those mild eyes and wept, 
But said no word in answer, nor refrained 
From those mysterious wanderings that filled 
Their loving hearts with a perpetual pain. 

And now the younger sister, fair and shy, 
Had grown to early womanhood, and one 
Who loved her well had wooed her for his bride, 
A.nd she had named the wedding-day. The herd 



SELLA. 315 

Had given its fallings for the marriage-feast ; 

The roadside garden and the secret glen 

Were rifled of their sweetest flowers to twine 

The door-posts, and to lie among the locks 

Of maids, the wedding-guests, and from the boughs 

Of mountain-orchards had the fairest fruit 

Been pluci^ed to glisten in the canisters. 

Then, trooping over hill and valley, came 
Matron and maid, grave men and smiling youths, 
Like swallows gathering for their autumn flight, 
In costumes of that simpler age they came, 
That gave the limbs large play, and wrapped the form 
In easy folds, yet bright with glowing hues 
As suited holidays. All hastened on 
To that glad bridal. There already stood 
The priest prepared to say the spousal rite, 
A.nd there the harpers in due order sat, 
And there the singers. Sella, midst them all, 
Moved strangely and serenely beautiful, 
With clear blue eyes, fair locks, and brow and cheok 
Colorless as the lily of the lakes, 
Yet moulded to such shape as artists give 
To beings of immortal youth. Her hands 
Had decked her sister for the bridal hour 
With chosen flowers, and lawn whose delicate threads 
Vied with the spider's spinning. There she stood 
With such a gentle pleasure in her looks 
As might beseem a river-nymph's soft eyes 
Gracing a bridal of the race whose flocks 
Were pastured on the borders of her stream. 

She sjniled, but from that calm sweet face the sraill 
Was soon to pass away. That very morn 
The elder of the brothers, as he stood 
Upon the hillside, had beheld the maid. 
Emerging from the channel of the brook, 
With three fresh water-lilies in her hand, 
Wring dry her dripping locks, and in a cleft 
3f hanging rock, beside a screen of boughs. 



316 LATER POEMS. 

Bestow the spangled slippers. None before 

Had known where Sella hid them. Then she laid 

The light-brown tresses smooth, and in them twined 

The hly-buds, and hastily drew forth 

And threw across her shoulders a hght robe 

Wrought for the bridal, and with bounding steps 

Ran toward the lodge. The youth beheld and marked 

The spot and slowly followed from afar. 

Now had the marriage-rite been said ; the bride 
Stood in the blush that from her burning cheek 
Glowed down the alabaster neck, as morn 
Crimsons the pearly heaven halfway to the west. 
At once the harpers struck their chords ; a gush 
Of music broke upon the air ; the youths 
All started to the dance. Among them moved 
The queenly Sella with a grace that seemed 
Caught from the swaying of the summer sea. 
The young drew forth the elders to the dance, 
Who joined it half abashed, but when they felt 
The joyous music tingling in their veins, 
They called for quaint old measures, which tliey trod 
As gayly as in youth, and far abroad 
Came through the open windows cheerful shouts 
And bursts of laughter. They who heard the sound 
Upon the mountain footpaths paused and said, 
" A merry wedding." Lovers stole away 
That sunny afternoon to bowers that edged 
The garden-walks, and what was whispered there 
The lovers of these later times can guess. 

Meanwhile the brothers, when the merry din 
Was loudest, stole to where the slippers lay. 
And took them thence, and followed down the brook 
To where a little rapid rushed between 
Ita borders of smooth rock, and dropped them in. 
The rivulet, as they touched its face, flung up 
Its email bright waves like hands, and seemed to take 
The prize with eagerness and draw it down. 
Thej, gleaming through the waters as they went, 



SELLA. 311 

A.ud striking with light sound the shining stones, 
SUd down the stream. The brothers looked and 

watched 
And listened with full beating hearts till now 
The sight and sound had passed, and silently 
And half repentant hastened to the lodge. 

The sun was near his set ; the music rang 
Within the dwelling still, but the mirth waned ; 
For groups of guests were sauntering toward tbeij 

homes 
Across the fields, and fdr, on hillside paths. 
Gleamed the white robes of maidens. Sella grew 
Weary of the long merriment ; she thought 
Of her still haunts beneath the soundless sea, 
And all unseen withdrew and sought the cleft 
Where she had laid the slippers. They were gone ! 
She searched the brookside near, yet found them not 
Til en her heart sank within her, and she ran 
Wildly from place to place, and once again 
She searched the secret cleft, and next she stooped 
And with spread palms felt carefully beneath 
The tufted herbs and bushes, and again, 
And yet again she searched the rocky cleft. • 
" Who could have taken them ? " That questioD 

cleared 
The mystery. She remembered suddenly 
That when the dance was in its gayest whirl, 
11 er brothers were not seen, and when, at length. 
They reappeared, the elder joined the sports 
W ith shouts of boisterous mirth, and from her eye 
Tlie younger shrank in silence. " Now, I knovv 
The guilty ones," she said, and left the spot, 
And stood before the youths with such a look 
Of anguish and reproach that well they knew 
Her thought, and almost wished the deed undone. 

Frankly they owned the charge: "And pardon us 
'iVe did it all in love ; we could not bear 
That the cold world of waters and the strange 



318 LATER P0EM8. 

Beings that dwell within it should beguile 

Our sister from us." Then they told her al) ; 

How they had seen her stealthily bestow 

The slippers in the cleft, and how by stealth 

They took them thence and bore them down tlu 

brook, 
And dropped them in, and how the eager waves 
Gathered and drew them down : but at that word 
The maiden shrieked — a broken-hearted shriek — 
And all who heard it shuddered and turned pale 
At the despairing cry, and " Tbey are gone," 
She said, " gone — gone forever ! Cruel ones ! 
'Tis you who shut me out eternally 
From that serener world which I had learned 
To love so well. Why took ye not my life ? 
Ye cannot know what ye have done." She spake 
And hurried to her chamber, and the guests 
Who yet had lingered silently withdrew. 

The brothers followed to the maiden's bower, 
But with a calm demeanor, as they came, 
She met them at the door. " The wrong is great," 
She said, "that ye have done me, but no power 
Have ye .to make it less, nor yet to soothe 
My sorrow ; I shall bear it as I may. 
The better for the hours that I have passed 
In the calm region of the middle sea. 
Go. then. I need you not." They, overawed. 
Withdrew from that grave presence. Then her teari 
Broke forth a flood, as when the August cloud. 
Darkening beside the mountam, suddenly 
Melts into streams of rain. That weary night 
She paced her chamber, murmuring as she walked, 
" Oh peaceful region of the middle sea ! 
Oh azure bowers and grots, in which I loved 
To roam and rest ! Am I to long for you. 
And think how strangely beautiful ye are, 
Yet never see you more ? And dearer yet, 
Ye gentle ones in whose sweet company 



SELLA. 81 J 

trod the shelly pavements of the deep, 
And vSwam its currents, creatures with calm eyea 
Looking the tenderest love, and voices soft 
As ripple of light waves along the shore, 
Uttering the tenderest words ! Oh ! ne'er again 
Shall I, in your mild aspects, read the peace 
That dwells within and vainly shall I pine 
To hear your sweet low voices. Haply now 
Ye miss me in your deep-sea home, and think 
Of me with pity, as of one condemned 
To haunt this upper world, with its harsh sounds 
And glaring hghts, its withering heats, its frosts, 
Cruel and killing, its delirious strifes, 
And all its feverish passions, till I die." 

So mourned she the long night, and when the mom 
Brightened the mountains, from her lattice looked 
The maiden on a world that was to her 
A desolate and dreary waste. That day 
She passed in wandering by the brook that oft 
Had been her pathway to the sea, and still 
Seemed, with its cheerful murmur, to invite 
Her footsteps thither. "Well mayst thou rejoice, 
Fortunate stream ! " she said, " and dance along 
Thy bed, and make thy course one ceaseless sti-ain 
Of music, for thou journeyest toward the deep. 
To which I shall return no more." The night 
Brought her to her lone chamber, and she knelt 
And prayed, with many tears, to Him whose hand 
Touches the wounded heart and it is healed. 
With prayer there came new thoughts and new de 

sires. 
She asked for patience and a deeper love 
For those with whom her lot was henceforth cast, 
And that in acts of mercy she might lose 
The sense of her own sorrow. When she rase 
A weight was lifted from her heart. She sought 
Her couch, and slept a long and peaceful sleep. 
A.t mom ohe woke to a new life. Her days 



320 LATER POEMS. 

Henceforth went given to quiet tasks of good 
In the great world. Men hearkened to her words, 
And wondered at their wisdom and obeyed, 
And saw how beautiful the law of love 
Can make the cares and toils of daily life. 

Still did she love to haunt the springs and brooka 
As in her cheerful childhood, and she taught 
The skill to pierce the soil and meet the veins 
Of clear cold water winding underneath, 
And call them forth to daylight. From afar 
She bade men bring the rivers on long rows 
Of pillared arches to the sultry town. 
And on the hot air of the summer fling 
The spray of dashing fountains. To relieve 
Their weary hands, she showed them how to tamo 
The rushing stream, and make him drive the wheel 
That whirls the humming millstone and that wields 
The ponderous sledge. The waters of the cloud, 
That drench the hillside in the time of rains, 
Were gathered at her bidding into pools. 
And in the months of drought led forth again, 
In ghmmering rivulets, to refresh the vales. 
Till the sky darkened with returning showers. 

So passed her life, a long and blameless life, 
And far and near her name was named with love 
And reverence. Still she kept, as age came on, 
Her stately presence ; still her eyes looked forth 
From under their calm brows as brightly clear 
As the transparent wells by which she sat 
So oft in childhood. Still she kept her fair 
Unwrinkled features, though her locks were whit« 
A hundred times had summer, since her birth, 
Opened the water-lily on the lakes. 
So old traditions tell, before she died. 
A hundred cities mourned her, and her death 
Saddened the pastoral valleys. By the brook, 
That bickering ran beside the cottage-door 
Where she was born, they reared her monument. 



FIFTH booe: of homer's odtsset. 321 

Ere long the current parted and flowed round 

The marble base, forming a little isle, 

And there the flowers that love the running stream, 

Iris and orchis, and the cardinal flower, 

Crowded and hung caresrdngly around 

The stone engraved with Sella's honored name. 



THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEY 

TRANSLATED. 

Alrora, rising from her couch beside 

The famed Tithonus, brought the light of day 

To men and to immortals. Then the gods 

Came to their seats in council. With them cam€ 

High-thundering Jupiter, amongst them all 

The mightiest. Pallas, mindful of the past. 

Spoke of Ulysses and his many woes. 

Grieved that he still was with the island nymph. 

" Oh, father Jove, and all ye blessed ones 
Who live forever! let not sceptred king, 
Eenceforth, be gracious, mild, and merciful, 
And righteous ; rather be he deaf to prayer, 
And prone to deeds of wrong, since no one nc w 
Remembers the divine Ulysses more 
Among the people over whom he ruled, 
Benignly, like a father. Still he lies. 
Weighed down by many sorrows, in the isle 
And dwelling of Calypso, who so long 
Constrains his stay. To his dear native land 
Depart he cannot ; ship, arrayed with oars. 
And seamen has he none, to bear him o'er 
The breast of the broad ocean. Nav, even now, 
21 



322 LATER POEMS. 

Against his well-beloved son a plot 
Is laid, to slay him as he journeys home 
From Pylos the divine, and from the walls 
Of famous Sparta, whither he had gone 
To gather tidings of his father's fate." 

Then answered her the ruler of the storms : 
" My child, what words are these that pass thy lips } 
Was not thy long-determined counsel this, 
That, in good time, Ulysses should return, 
To be avenged ? Guide, then, Telemachus, 
Wisely, for so thou canst, that, all unharmed, 
He reach his native land, and, in their barks, 
Homeward the suitor-train retrace their way." 

He spoke, and turned to Hermes, his dear son : 
" Hermes, for thou, in this, my messenger 
Art, as in all things, to the bright-haired nymph 
Make known my steadfast purpose, the return 
Of suffering Ulysses. Neither gods 
Nor men shall guide his voyage. On a raft, 
Made firm with bands, he shall depart and reach, 
After long hardships, on the twentieth day, 
The fertile shore of Scheria, on whose isle 
Dwell the Pheacians, kinsmen of the gods. 
They like a god shall honor him, and thence 
Send him to his loved country in a ship. 
With ample gifts of brass and gold, and store 
Of raiment — Avealth Uke which he ne'er had brought 
From conquered Dion, had he reached his home 
Safely, with all his portion of the spoil. 
So is it preordained, that he behold 
His friends again, and stand once more within 
His high-roofed palace, on his native soil.'" 

He spake ; the herald Argicide obeyed, 
And hastily beneath his feet he bound 
The fair, ambrosial, golden sandals, worn 
To bear him over ocean like the wind. 
And o'er the boundless land. His wand he took. 
Wherewith he softly seals the eyes of men. 



FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER S ODYSSEY. 323 

A.nd opens them at will from sleep. With this 

[n hand, the mighty Argos-queller flew, 

And lighting on Pieria, from the sky 

Plunged downward to the deep, and skimmed its fac< 

Like hovering sea-mew, that on the broad gulfs 

Of the unfruitful ocean seeks her prey, 

And often dips her pinions in the brine. 

So Hermes flew along the waste of waves. 

But when he reached that island, far away. 
Forth from the dark blue ocean-swell he stepped 
Upon the sea-beach, walking till he came 
To the vast cave in which the bright-haired nymph 
Made her abode. He found the nymph within. 
A fire blazed brightly on the hearth, and far 
Was wafted o'er the isle the fragrant smoke 
Of cloven cedar, burning in the flame, 
And cypress-wood. Meanwhile, in her recess, 
She sweetly sang, as busily she threw 
The golden shuttle through the web she wove. 
And all about the grotto alders grew, 
And poplars, and sweet-smelling cypresses, 
In a green forest, high among whose boughs 
Birds of broad wing, wood-owls and falcons, built 
Their nests, and crows, with voices sounding far, 
All haunting for their food the ocean-side. 
A vine, with downy leaves and clustering grapea. 
Crept over all the cavern-rock. Four springs 
Poured forth their glittering waters in a row, 
And here and there went wandering side by side. 
Around were meadows of soft green, o'ergrown 
With violets and parsley. 'Twas a spot 
Where even an Immortal might, awhile, 
Linger, and gaze with wonder and delight. 
The herald Argos-queller stood, and saw. 
And marvelled ; but as soon as he had viewed 
The wonders of the place, he turned his steps. 
Entering the broad-roofed cave. Calypso there, 
The glorious goddess, saw him as he came^ 



824 LATER POEMS. 

And knew him, for the evei-hvhig gods 
Are 10 each other known, though one may dweU 
Far from the rest. Ulysses, large of heart, 
Was not within. Apart, upon the shore. 
He sat and sorrowed, where he oft, in tears 
And sighs and vain repinings, passed the hours, 
Gazing with wet eyes on the barren deep. 
Now, placing Hermes on a shining seat 
Of state. Calypso, glorious goddess, said : 

" Thou of the golden wand, revered and loved, 
What, Hermes, brings thee hither ? Passing few 
Have been thy visits. Make thy pleasure known, 
My heart enjoins me to obey, if aught 
That thou comraandest be within my power. 
But first accept the offerings due a guest." 

The goddess, speaking thus, before him placed 
A table where the heaped ambrosia lay, 
And mingled the red nectar. Ate and drank 
The herald Argos-queller, and, refreshed. 
Answered the nymph, and made his message knowi 

*' Art thou a goddess, and dost ask of me, 
A god, why came I hither ? Yet, since thou 
Requirest, I will truly tell the cause. 
I came unwillingly at Jove's command. 
For who, of choice, would traverse the wide wasK 
Of the salt ocean, with no city near, 
Where men adore the gods with solemn rites 
And chosen hecatombs. No god has power 
To elude or to resist the purposes 
Of aegis-bearing Jove. With thee abides, 
He bids me say, the most unhappy man 
Of all who round the city of Priam waged 
The battle through nine years, and, in the tenth 
Laying it waste, departed for their homes. 
Btit, in their voyage, they provoked the wrath 
Of Pallas, who called up the furious winds 
And angry wares against them. By his side 
5ank all his gallant comrades in the deep. 



FIFTH BOOK OF HOMEE'S ODYSSEY, 325 

Him did the winds and waves drive liitlier. lliiii 

Jove bids thee send away with speed, for here 

He must not perish, far from all he loves. 

So is it preordained that he behold 

His friends again, and stand once more within 

Ilis high-roofed palace, on his native soil." 

He spolvc ; Calypso, glorious goddess, heard, 
And shuddered, and with winged words replied : 

" Ye are unjust, ye gods, and, envious far 
Beyond all other beings, cannot bear 
That ever goddess openly should make 
A mortal man her consort. Thus it was 
When once Aurora, rosy-fingered, took 
Orion for her husband ; ye were stung, 
Amid your blissful lives, with envious hate, 
Till chaste Diana, of the golden throne, 
Smote him with silent arrows from her bow, 
And slew him in Ortygia. Thus, again, 
When bright-haired Ceres, swayed by her own hear: 
In fields which bore three yearly harvests, met 
lasion as a lover, this was known 
Ei'e long to Jupiter, who flung from high 
A fliaming thunderbolt, and laid him dead. 
And now ye envy me, that with me dwells 
A mortal man. I saved him, as he clung, 
Alone, upon his floating keel, for Jove 
Had cloven, with a bolt of fire, from heaven, 
His galley in the midst of the black sea. 
And all his gallant comrades perished there. 
Him kindly I received ; I cherished him, 
And promised him a life that ne'er should kno\t 
Decay or death. But, since no god has power 
To elude or to withstand the purposes 
Of gegis-bearing Jove, let him depart, 
If so the sovereign moves him and commands, 
Over the barren deep. I send him not ; 
For neithei ship arrayed with oars have I, 
ISTor seamen, o'er the boundless waste of wave." 



326 LATEH POEMS. 

To bear him hence. My counsel I will ^ve, 
And nothing will I hide that he should know 
To place him safel}' on his native shore." 

The herald Argos-queller answered her : 
" Dismiss him thus, and bear in mind the wrath 
Of Jove, lest it be kindled against thee." 

Thus having said, the mighty Argicide 
Departed, and the nymph, who now had heard 
The doom of Jove, sought the great-hearted man, 
Ulysses. Him she found beside the deep, 
Seated alone, with eyes from which the tears 
Were never dried, for now no more the nymph 
Delighted him ; he wasted his sweet life 
In yearning for his home. Night after night 
He slept constrained within the hollow cave, 
The unwilling by the fond, and, day by day, 
He sat upon the rocks that edged the shore, 
And in continual weeping and in sighs 
And vain repinings, wore the hours away, 
Gazing through tears upon the barren deep. 
The glorious goddess stood by him and spoke ; 

"Unhappy ! sit no longer sorrowing here, 
Nor waste life thus. Lo ! I most willingly 
Dismiss thee hence. Rise, hew down trees, and binC 
Their trunks, with brazen clamps, into a raft. 
And fasten planks above, a lofty floor. 
That it may bear thee o'er the dark-blue deep. 
Bread will I put on board, water, and wine. 
Red wine, that cheers the heart, and wrap thee we! 
In garments, and send after thee the wind, 
That safely thou attain thy native shore ; 
If so the gods permit thee, who abide 
In the broad heaven above, and better know 
By far than I, and far more wisely judge. 

Ulysses, the great sufferer, as she spoke, 
Shuddered, and thus with winged words replied 
'* Some (<ther purpose than to send me home 
Ts in thy heart, oh goddess, bidding me 



FIFTH BOOK OF H(vMEE's ODYaSBY. 327 

To cross this frightful sea upon a raft, 
This perilous sea, where never even ships 
Pass with their rapid keels, though Jove bestow 
The wind that glads the seaman. Nay, I climb 
No raft, against thy wish, unless thou swear 
The great oath of the gods, that thou, in this, 
Dost meditate no jther harm to me." 

He spake , Calypso, glorious goddess, smiled, 
And smoothed his forehead with her hand, and said 

" Perverse ! and slow to see where guile is not ! 
How could thy heart permit thee thus to speak ? 
Now bear me witness, Earth, and ye broad Heavens 
Above us, and ye waters of the Styx 
That flow beneath us, mightiest oath of all, 
And most revered by all the blessed gods. 
That I design no other harm to thee ; 
But that I plan for thee and counsel thee 
What I would do were I in need like thine. 
I bear a juster mind ; my bosom holds 
A pitying heart, and not a heart of steel." 

Thus having said, the glorious goddess moved 
Away with hasty steps, and where she trod 
He followed, till they reached the vaulted cave, 
The goddess and the hero. There he took 
The seat whence Hermes had just risen. The nymph 
Brought forth whatever mortals eat and drink 
To set before him. She, right opposite 
To that of great Ulysses, took her seat. 
Ambrosia there her maidens laid, and there 
Poured nectar. Both put forth their hands, and 

took 
The ready viands, till at length the calls 
Of hunger and of thirst were satisfied ; 
Calypso, glorious goddess, then began : 

" Sou of Laertes, man of many wiles. 
High-born Ulysses ! Thus wilt thou depart 
Rome to thy native country ? Then farewell i 
But, couldst thou know the sufferings Fate ordains 



828 LATER POEMS. 

For thee ere yet thou landest on its shore, 
Thou w'ouldst remain to keep this home with mo, 
And be immortal, strong as is thy wish 
To see thy wife — a wish that, day by day, 
Possesses thee. I cannot deem myself 
In form or face less beautiful than she ; 
Fo'^ never witl» immortals can the race 
Of mortal dames in form or face compare." 

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered her : 
" Bear with me, gracious goddess ; well I know 
All thou couldst say. The sage Penelope 
In feature and in stature comes not nigh 
To thee ; for she is mortal, deathless thou 
And ever young ; yet, day by day, I long 
To be at home once more, and pine to see 
The hour of my return. Even though some god 
Smite me on the black ocean, I shall bear 
The stroke, for in my bosom dwells a mind 
Patient of suffering ; much have I endured. 
And much survived, in tempests on the deep, 
And in the battle ; let this happen too." 

He spoke ; the sun went down ; the night cam€ on 
And now the twain withdrew to a recess 
Deep in the vaulted cave, where, side by side, 
They took their rest. But when the child of dawn, 
Aurora, rosy-fingered, looked abroad, 
Ulysses put his vest and mantle on ; 
The nymph too, in a robe of silver white, 
Ample, and delicate, and beautiful, 
Arrayed herself, and round about her loins 
Wound a fair golden girdle, drew a veil 
Over her head, and planned to send away 
Magnanimous Ulysses. She bestowed 
A heavy axe, of steel, and double-edged, 
Well fitted to the hand, the handle wrought 
Of olive wood, firm set, and beautiful. 
^ polished adze she gave him next, and lod 
rhe way to a far corner of the isle, 



FIFTH BOOK OF HOMEe's 0DYS8ET. 329 

Wlicrc lofty trees, alders and poplars, stood, 
And firs that reached the clouds, sapless and dry 
Long since, and fitter thus to ride the waves. 
Then, having shown where grew the tallest trees, 
Calypso, glorious goddess, sought her home. 

Trees then he felled, and soon the task was done. 
Twenty in all he brought to earth, and squared 
Their trunks with the sharp steel, and carefully 
He smoothed their sides, and wrought them by a line 
Calypso, gracious goddess, having brought 
Wimbles, he bored the beams, and, fitting them 
Together, made them fast with nails and clamps. 
As when some builder, skilful in his art, 
Frames, for a ship of burden, the broad keel, 
Such ample breadth Ulysses gave the raft. 
Upon the massy beams he reared a deck, 
And floored it with long planks from end to end. 
On this a mast he raised, and to the mast 
Fitted a yard ; he shaped a rudder next, 
To guide the raft along her course, and round 
With woven work of willow-boughs he fenced 
Her sides against the dashings of the sea. 
Calypso, gracious goddess, brought him store 
Of canvas, which he fitly shaped to sails. 
And, rigging her with cords, and ropes, and stays, 
Heaved her with levers into the great deep. 

'Twas the fourth day ; his labors now were done. 
And, on the fifth, the goddess from her isle 
Dismissed him, newly from tl e bath, arrayed 
In garments given by her, that shed perfumes, 
A skin of dark-red wine she put on board, 
A larger one of water, and for food 
A basket, stored with viands such as please 
The appetite. A friendly wind and soft 
She sent before. The great Ulysses spread 
His canvas joyfully, to catch the breeze, 
And sat and guided with nice care the helm. 
Gazing with fixed eye on the Pleiades, 



830 LATER POEMS. 

(iootes setting late, and the Great Bear, 

By others called the Warn, which, wheeling round. 

Looks ever toward Orion, and iilone 

Dip 5 not into the waters of the deep. 

For so Calypso, gloi-ious goddess, bade 

That, on his ocean journey, he should keep 

That constellation ever on his left. 

N'ow seventeen days were in the voyage past, 

And on the eighteenth shadowy heights appeared, 

The nearest point of the Pheacian land. 

Lying on the dark ocean like a shield. 

But mighty Neptune, coming from among 
The Ethiopians, saw him. Far away 
He saw, from mountain-heights of Solyma, 
The voyager, and burned with fiercer wrath, 
And shook his head, and said within himself: 

" Strange ! now I see the gods have new designs 
For this Ulysses, formed while I was yet 
In Ethiopia. He draws near the land 
Of the Pheacians, where it is decreed 
He shall o'erpass the boundary of his woes , 
But first, I think, he will have much to bear." 

He spoke, and round about him called the clouds 
And roused the ocean, wielding in his hand 
The trident, summoned all the hurricanes 
Of all the winds, and covered earth and sky 
At once with mists, while from above, the night 
Fell suddenly. The east wind and the south 
Rushed forth at once, with the strong-blowing west, 
And the clear north rolled up his mighty waves. 
Ulysses trembled in his knees and heart. 
And thus to his great soul, lamenting, said : 

" What will become of me ? unhappy man f 
I fear that all the goddess said was true. 
Foretelling what disasters should o'ertake 
My voyage, ere I reach my native land. 
Now arc her words fulfilled. How Jupiter 
Wraps the great heaven in clouds and stirs the deer 



FIFTH BOOK OF HOMEE's ODYSSEY. S31 

To tumult ! Wilder grow the hurricanes 
Of all the winds, and now my fate is sure. 
Thrice happy, four times happy they, who fell 
On Troy's wide field, warring for Atreus' sons: 
Oh, had I met my fate and perished there. 
That very day on which the Trojan host, 
Around the dead Achilles, hurled at me 
Their brazen javelins ; I had then received 
Due burial and great glory with the Greeks ; 
Now must T die a miserable death." 

As thus he spoke, upon him, from on high, 
A huge and frightful billow broke ; it whirled 
The raft around, and far from it he fell. 
His hands let go the rudder ; a fierce rush 
Of all the winds together snapped in twain 
The mast ; far off the yard and canvas flew 
Into the deep ; the billow held him long 
Beneath the waters, and he strove in vain 
Quickly to rise to air from that huge swell 
Of ocean, for the garments weighed him down 
Which fair Calypso gave hiru. But, at length, 
Emerging, be rejected from his throat 
The bitter brine that down his forehead streamed. 
Even then, though hopeless with dismay, his thought 
Was on the raft, and, struggling through the waves, 
He seized it, sprang on board, and seated there 
Escaped the threatened death. Still to and fro 
The rolling billows drove it. As the wind 
In autumn sweeps the thistles o'er the field, 
Clinging together, so the blasts of heaven 
Hither and thither drove it o'er the sea. 
And now the south wind flung it to the north 
To buffet ; now the east wind to the west. 

Ino L'^ucothea saw him clinging there, 
The delicate-footed child of Cadmus, once 
A mortal, speaking with a mortal voice ; 
Though now within the ocean-gulfs she shares 
The honors of the gods. With pity she 



LATER P0KM8. 

Beheld Ulysses struggling thus distressed, 
And, rising from the abyss below, in form 
A cormorant, the sea-nymph took her perch 
On the well-banded raft, and thus she said : 

" Ah, luckless man, how hast thou angered thin 
Eaith-shaking Neptune, that he visits thee 
With these disasters ? Yet he cannot take, 
Although he seek it earnestly, thy life. 
Now do my bidding, for thou seemest wise. 
Laying aside thy garments, let the raft 
Drift with the winds, while thou, by strength of anu 
Makest thy way in swimming to the land 
Of the Pheacians, where thy safety lies. 
Receive this veil and bind its heavenly woof 
Beneath thy breast, and have no further fear 
Of hardship or of danger. But, as soon 
As thou shalt touch the island, take it off, 
And turn away thy face, and fling it far 
From where thou standest, into the black deep.'* 

The goddess gave the veil as thus she spoke, 
And to the tossing deep went down, in form 
A cormorant ; the black wave covered her. 
But still Ulysses, mighty sufferer, 
Pondered, and thus to his great soul he said : 

"Ah me ! perhaps some god is planning here 
Some other fraud against me, bidding me 
Forsake my raft. I will not yet obey. 
For still far off I see the land in which 
'Tis said my refuge lies. This will I do, 
For this seems wisest. While the fastenings last 
That hold these timbers, I will keep my place 
And bide the tempest here. But when the waves 
Shall dash my raft in pieces, I will swim, 
For nothing better will remain to do," 

As he revolveJ this purpose in his mind. 
Earth-shaking Neptune sent a mighty wave, 
Horrid, and huge, and high, and where he saJ 
t smote him. As a violent wind uulifta 



FIFTH BOOK OF HOMEE's ODTSSET. 333 

The dry chaff heaped upon a threshing-floor, 

And sends it scattered through the air abroad, 

So did that wave fling loose the ponderous beams. 

To one of these, Ulysses, clinging fast, 

Bestrode it, hke a horseman on his steed ; 

And now he took the garments off, bestowed 

By fair Calypso, binding round his breast 

The veil, and forward plunged into the deep. 

With palms outspread, prepared to swim. Meanwhile 

Neptune beheld him, Neptune, mighty king, 

And shook his head, and said within himself: 

" Go thus, and, laden with mischances, roam 
The waters, till thou come among the race 
Cherished by Jupiter but well I deem 
Thou wilt not find thy share of suffering light." 

Thus having spoke, he urged his coursers on, 
With their fair-flowing manes, until he came 
To -Mg^se, where his glorious palace stands. 

But Pallas, child of Jove, had other thoughts. 
She stayed the course of every wind beside, 
And bade them rest, and lulled them into sleep. 
But summoned the swift north to break the waves, 
That so Ulysses, the high-born, escaped 
From death and from the fates, might be the guesi 
Of the Pheacians, men who love the sea. 

Two days and nights, among the mighty waves 
He floated, oft his heart foreboding death. 
But when the bright-haired Eos had fulfilled 
The third day's course, and all the winds were laii'j, 
And calm was on the watery waste, he saw 
That land was near, as, lifted on the crest 
Of a huge swell, he looked with sharpened ^ight ; 
And as a father's life preserved makes glad 
His children's hearts, when long-time he has Iain 
Sick, wrung with pain, and wasting by the power 
Of some malignant genius, till, at length, 
The gracious gods bestow a welcome cure ; 
So welcome to Ulysses was the siglit 



334 LATEE POEMS. 

Of tvoods and fields. By swimming on he tlioughl 

To climb and tread the shore, but when he drew 

So near that one who shouted could be heard 

From land, the sound of ocean on the rocks 

Came to his ear, for there huge breakers roared 

And spouted fearfully, and all around 

Was covered with the sea-foam. Haven here 

Was none for ships, nor sheltering creek, but shorei 

Beetling from high, and crags and walls of rock. 

Ulysses trembled both in knees and heart, 

And thus, to his great soul, lamenting, said : 

" Now woe is me ! as soon as Jove has shown 
What I had little hoped to see, the land. 
And I through all these waves have ploughed my way, 
I find no issue from the hoary deep. 
For sharp rocks border it, and all around 
Roar the wild surges ; slippery cliffs arise 
Close to deep gulfs, and fooling there is none, 
Where I might plant ray steps and thus escape. 
All effort now were fruitless to resist 
The mighty billow hurrying me away 
To dash me on the pointed rocks. If yet 
I strive, by swimming further, to descry 
Some sloping shore or harbor of the isle, 
I fear the tempest, lest it hurl me back, 
Heavily groaning, to the fishy deep. 
Or huge sea-monster, from the multitude 
Which sovereign Amphitrite feeds, be sent 
Against me by some god, for well I know 
The power who shakes the shores is wroth with me." 

While he revolved these doubts within his mind, 
A huge wave hurled him toward the rugged coast. 
Then had his limbs been flayed, and all his bones 
Broken at once, had not the blue-eyed maid, 
Minerva, prompted him. Borne toward the rock, 
He clutched it instantly, with both his hands, 
And panting clung till that huge wave rolled by, 
A.nd so escaped its fury. Back it came. 



FIFTH BOOK OF HOMEE's ODYSSEY. 335 

And smote Mm once again, and flung him far 

Seaward. As to the claws of polypus, 

Plucked from its bed, the pebbles thickly cling, 

So flakes of skin, from off" his powerful hands, 

Were left upon the roek. The mighty surge 

O'erwhelmed him ; he had perished ere his time, 

Hapless Ulysses, but the blue-eyed maid, 

Pallas, informed his mind with forecast. Straight 

Emerging from the wave that shoreward rolled. 

He swam along the coast and eyed it well, 

In hope of sloping beach or sheltered creek. 

But when, in swimming, he had reached the moutt 

Of a soft-flowing river, here appeared 

The spot he wished for, smooth, without a rocky 

And here was shelter from the wind. He felt 

The current's flow, and thus devoutly prayed : 

" Hear me, oh sovereign power, whoe'er thou art i 
To thee, the long-desired, I come. I seek 
Escape from Neptune's threatenings on the sea. 
The deathless gods respect the prayer of him 
Who looks to them for help, a fugitive. 
As. I am now, when to thy stream I com.e. 
And to thy kuees, from many a hardship past. 
Oh thou that here art ruler, I declare 
Myself thy suppliant ; be thou merciful." 

He spoke ; the river stayed his current, checked 
The billows, smoothed them to a calm, and gave 
The swimmer a safe landing at his mouth. 
Tiien dropped his knees and sinewy arms, at once 
Unstrung, for faint with struggling was his heart. 
His body was all swoln ; the brine gushed forth 
From mouth and nostrils ; all unnerved he lay, 
Breathless and speechless ; utter weariness 
O'ermastered him. But when he breathed again, 
And his flown senses had returned, he loosed 
The veil that Ino gave him from his breast. 
And to the salt flood cast it. A great wave 
Bore it far down the stream ; the goddess there 



336 LATER POEMS. 

fn her own hands received it. He, meanwhile, 
Withdrawing from the brink, lay down among 
The reeds, and kissed the harvest-bearing earth, 
A.nd thus to his great soul, lamenting, said : 

" Ah me ! what must I suflfer more ! what yet 
Will happen to me ? If, by the river's side, 
[ pass the unfriendly watches of the night. 
The cruel cold and dews that steep the bank 
May, in this weakness, end me utterly, 
For chilly blows the river-air at dawn. 
But should I climb this hill, to sleep within 
The shadowy wood, among thick shrubs, if cold 
And weariness allow me, then I fear. 
That,- while the pleasant slumbers o'er me steal, 
I may become the prey of savage beasts." 

Yet, as he longer pondered, this seemed best. 
He rose and sought the wood, and found it near 
The water, on a height, o'erlooking far 
The region round. Between two shrubs, tha 

sprung 
Both fi-om one spot, he entered, — olive-trees. 
One wild, one fruitful. The damp-blowing wind 
Ne'er pierced their covert ; never blazing sun 
Darted his beams within, nor pelting shower 
Beat through, so closely intertwined they grew. 
Here entering, Ulysses heaped a bed 
Of leaves with his own hands ; he made it broad 
And high, for thick the leaves had fallen around. 
Two men and three, in that abundant store, 
Might bide the winter-storm, though keen the cold 
Ulysses, the great sufferer, on his couch 
Looked and rejoiced, and placed himself within. 
And heaped the leaves high o'er him and around. 

As one who,' dwelling in the distant fields. 
Without a neighbor near him, hides a brand 
In the dark ashes, keeping carefully 
The seeds of fire alive, lest he, perforce, 
To light h\8 hearth must brino; them from afar 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF TuE SN^OW. 337 

fee did Ulysses, in that pile of leaves, 

Bury himself, while Pallas o'er his eyes 

Pofured sleep and closed his lids, that he might take, 

After his painful toils, the fitting rest. 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW 

Alice. — One of your old world stories, Uncle John, 
Such as you tell us by the winter fire. 
Till we all wonder it has grown so late. 

Uncle John. — The story of the witch that ground to 
death 
Two children in her mill, or will you have 
The tale of Goody Cutpurse ? 

Alice. — Nay now, nay ; 

Those stories are too childish, Uncle John, 
Too childish even for little Willy here, 
And I am older, two good years, than he ; 
No, let us have a tale of elves that ride. 
By night, with jinghng reins, or gnomes of the mine, 
Or water-fairies, such as you know how 
To spin, till Willy's eyes forget to wink, 
And good Aunt Mary, busy as she is, 
Lays down her knitting. 

Uncle John.—- Listen to me, then. 

'Twas in the olden time, long, long ago, 
And long before the great oak at our door 
Was yet an acorn, on a mountain's side 
Lived, with his wife, a cottager. They dwelt 
Beside a glen and near a dashing brook, 
i pleasant spot in spring, where first the wren 
Was heard to ctatter, and, among the grass, 
22 



338 LATER POEMS. 

Floweiri opuned earliest; but, when winter came, 
That little brook was fringed with other flowers,- - 
White flowers, with crystal leaf and stem, that grew 
In clear November nights. And, later still, 
That mountain-glen was filled with drifted snows 
From side to side, that one might walk across. 
While, many a fathom deep, below, the brook 
Sang to itself, and leaped and trotted on 
Unfrozen, o'er its pebbles, toward the vale. 

Alice. — A mountain-side, you said ; the Alps, pei 
haps. 
Or our own Alleghanies. 

Uncle John. — Not so fast. 

My young geographer, for then the Alps, 
With their broad pastures, haply were untrod 
Of herdsman's foot, and never human voice 
Had sounded in the woods that overhang 
Our Alleghany's streams. I think it was 
Upon the slopes of the great Caucasus, 
Or where the rivulets ot Ararat 
Seek the Armenian vales. That mountain rose 
So high, that, on its top, the winter-snow 
Was never melted, and the cottagers 
Among the summer-blossoms, far below. 
Saw its white peaks in August from their door. 

One little maiden, in that cottage home, 
Dwelt with her parents, light of heart and limb. 
Bright, restless, thoughtless, flitting here and there, 
Like sunshine on the uneasy ocean-waves, 
And sometimes she forgot what she was bid, 
As Alice does. 

Alice. — Or Willy, quite as oft. 

[Tncle John. — But you are older, Alice, two gow 
years. 
And should be wiser. Eva was the name 
\}f this young maiden, now twelve summers old. 

Now you must know that, in those early times, 
When autumn days grew pale, there came a troop 



Xaa LITTLE PEOPLE OF TBCE SNOW. 389 

Of eliildlike forms from that cold mountain-top ; 
With traiKng garments through the air they came, 
Or walked the ground with girded loins, and threw 
Spangles of silvery frost upon the grass. 
And edged the brook with glistening parapets, 
And built it crystal bridges, touched the pool, 
And turned its face to glass, or, rising thence, 
They shook, from their full laps, the soft, light snov? 
And buried the great earth, as autumn winds 
Bury the forest-floor in heaps of leaves. 

A beautiful race were they, with baby brows. 
And fair, bright locks, and voices like the sound 
Of steps on the crisp snow, in which they talked 
With man, as friend with friend. A merry sight 
It was, when, crowding round the traveller, 
They smote him with their heaviest snow-flakes, fluug 
Needles of frost in handfuls at his cheeks. 
And, of the light wreaths of his smoking breath, 
Wove a white fringe for his brown beard, and laughed 
Their slender laugh to see him wink and grin 
And make grim faces as he floundered on. 

But, when the spring came on, what terror reign w1 
Among these Little People of the Snow ! 
To them the sun's warm beams were shafts of fire, 
And the soft south-wind was the wind of death 
Away they flew, all with a pretty scowl 
Upon their childish faces, to the north. 
Or scampered upward to the mountain's top, 
And there defied their enemy, the Spring ; 
Skipping and dancing on the frozen peaks, 
And moulding httle snow-balls in their palms, 
And rolling them, to crush her flowers below. 
Down the steep snow-fields. 

Alice. — That, too, must have been 

A merry sight to look at. 

Uncle John. — You are right, 
But I must speak of graver matters now. 

Midwinter was the time, and Eva stood, 



1^40 LATEB POEMB. 

Wltliin the cottage, all prepared to dare 

The outer cold, with ample furry robe 

Olose-bclted rouna nor waist, aud boots of fur, 

And a broad kerchief, which her mother's hand 

Had closely drawn about her ruddy cheek. 

" Now, stay not long abroad," said the good dajne, 

"For sharp is the outer air, and, mark me well, 

Go not upon the snow beyond the spot 

Where the great linden bounds the neighboring field." 

The little maiden promised, and went forth, 
And climbed the rounded snow-swells firm with frost 
Beneath her feet, and slid, with balancing arms, 
Into the hollows. Once, as up a drift 
She slowly rose, before her, in the way, 
She saw a little creature, lily-cheeked, 
With flowing flaxen locks, and faint blue eyes. 
That gleamed like ice, and robe that only seemed 
Of a more shadowy whiteness than her cheek. 
On a smooth bank she sat. 

Alice. — She must have been 

One of your Little People of the Snow. 

Uncle John. — She was so, and, as Eva now drew 
near, 
The tiny creature bounded from her seat ; 
*' And come," she said, "my pretty friend; to-day 
We will be playmates. I have watched thee long, 
And seen how well thou lov'st to walk these drifts, 
And scoop their fair sides into little cells, 
A.nd carve them with quaint figures, huge-limbed men, 
Lions, and griffins. We will have, to-day, 
A merry ramble over these bright fields, 
And thou shalt see what thou bast never seen." 

On went the' pair, until they reached r.he bound 
Where the gi-eat linden stood, set deep in snow, 
Up to the lower branches. " Here we stop," 
Said Eva, *' for my mother has my word 
That I will go no further than this tree." 
Then the snow-maiden laughed: "And what ii this? 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 341 

riiis fear of the pure snow, the innocent anow, 
That never harmed aught living ? Then mayst roam 
For leagues beyond this garden, and return 
In safety ; here the grim wolf never prowls, 
And here the eagle of our mountain-crags 
Preys not in winter. I will show the way, 
And bring thee safely home. Thy mother, sure, 
Counselled thee thus because thou hadst no guide." 

By such smooth words was Eva won to break 
Her promise, and went on with her new friend. 
Over the glistening snow and down a bank 
Where a white shelf, wrought by the eddying wind. 
Like to a billow's crest in the great sea. 
Curtained an opening. " Look, we enter here." 
And straight, beneath the fair o'erhanging fold, 
Entered tlie little pair that hill of snow, 
Walking along a passage with white walls. 
And a white vault above where snow-stars shed 
A wintry twilight. Eva moved in awe, 
And held her peace, but the snow-maiden smiled, 
And talked and tripped along, as, down the way, 
Deeper they went into that mountainous drift. 

And now the white walls widened, and the vault 
Swelled upward, like some vast cathedral dome, 
Such as the I'lorentine, who bore the name 
Of heaven's most potent angel, reared, long since, 
Or the unknown builder of that wondrous fane, 
The glory of Burgos. Here a garden lay. 
In which the Little People of the Snow 
Were wont to take their pastime when their tasks 
Upon the mountain's side and in the clouds 
Were ended. Here they taught the silent frost 
To mock, in stem and spray, and leaf and flower, 
The growths of summer. Here the palm upreared 
Its white columnar trunk and spotless sheaf 
Of plume-like leaves ; here cedars, huge as those 
Jf Lebanon, stretched far their level boughs, 
?et pale and shadowless ; the sturdy oak 



842 LAIEK POEMS. 

Stood, with its huge gnarled roots of seeming strength, 
Fast anchored in the gUstening bank ; Ught sprays 
Of myrtle, roses in their bud and bloom, 
Drooped by the winding walks ; yet all seemed 

wrought 
Of stainless alabaster ; up the trees 
Rnn the hthe jessamine, with stalk and leaf 
Colorless as her flowers. " Go softly on," 
Said the snow-maiden ; " touch not, with thy hand 
The frail creation round thee, and beware 
To sweep it with thy skirts. Now look above. 
How sumptuously these bowers are lighted up 
With shifting gleams that softly come and go ! 
These are the northern lights, such as thou seest 
In the midwinter nights, cold, wandering flames, 
That float, with our processions, through the air; 
And here, within our winter palaces. 
Mimic the glorious daybreak." Then she told 
How, when the wind, in the long winter nights, 
Swept the light snows into the hollow^ dell. 
She and her comrades guided to its place 
Each wandering flake, and piled them quaintly up, 
In shapely colonnade and glistening arch. 
With shadowy aisles between, or bade them grow 
Beneath their little hands, to bowery walks 
In gardens such as these, and, o'er them all. 
Built the broad roof. " But thou hast yet to see 
A fairer sight," she said, and led the way 
To where a window of pellucid ice 
Stood in the wall of snow, beside their path. 
" Look, but thou mayst not enter." Eva looked, 
And lo ! a glorious hall, from whose high vault 
Stripes of soft light, ruddy, and delicate green. 
And tender blue, flowed downward to the floor 
And far around, as if the aerial hosts. 
That march on high by night, witli beamy speara, 
And streaming banners, to that place had brought 
Theh- radiant flags to grace a festival 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 313 

And in that hall a joyous multitude 
Of these by whom its glistening walls were reared, 
Whirled in a merry dance to silvery sounds, 
That rang from cymbals of transparent ice, 
And ice-cups, quivering to the skilful teuch 
Of little fingers. Round and round they flew, 
As when, in spring, about a chimney-top, 
A cloud of twittering swallows, just returned. 
Wheel round and round, and turn and wheel again, 
Unwinding their swift track. So rapidly 
Flowed the meandering stream of that fair dance. 
Beneath that dome of light. Bright eyes that looked 
From under lily-brows, and gauzy scarfs 
Sparkling like snow-wreaths in the early sun, 
Shot by the window in their mazy whirl. 
And there stood Eva, wondering at the sight 
Of those bright revellers and that graceful sweep 
Of motion as they passed her ; — long she gazed. 
And listened long to the sweet sounds that thrilled 
The frosty air, till now the encroaching cold 
Recalled her to herself. " Too long, too long 
I linger here," she said, and then she sprang 
Into the path, and with a hurried step 
Followed it upward. Ever by her side 
Her little guide kept pace. As on they went 
Eva bemoaned her fault : " What must they think— 
The dear ones in the cottage, while so long, 
Hour after hour, I stay without ? I know 
That they will seek me far and near, and weep 
To find me not. How could I, wickedly. 
Neglect the charge they gave me ? " As she spoke. 
The hot tears started to her eyes ; she knelt 
In the mid-path. " Father ! forgive this sin ; 
Forgive myself I cannot " — thus she prayed, 
A.nd rose and hastened onward. When, at last, 
They reached the outer air, the clear north breathed 
A bitter cold, from which she shrank with dread, 
But the snow-maiden bo anded as she felt 



544 LATER POEMS. 

The cutting blast, and uttered shouts of joy 
A.nd skipped, wkh boundless glee, from dnft to drift} 
And danced rounu Eva, as she labored up 
The mounds of snow. " Ah me ! I feel my eyes 
Grow heavy," Eva said ; " they swim with sleep ; 
I cannot walk for utter weariness, 
And I must rest a moment on this bank, 
[Jut let it not be long." As thus she spoke, 
In half-formed words, she sank on the smooth snow 
Witii closing lids. Her guide composed the robe 
About her hmbs, and said : " A pleasant spot 
Is this to slumber in ; on such a couch 
Oft have 1 slept away the winter night, 
And had the sweetest dreams." So Eva slept, 
But slept in death ; for when the power of frost 
Locks up the motions of the living frame, 
The victim passes to the realm of Death 
Through the dim porch of Sleep. The little guide, 
Watching beside her, saw the hues of life 
Fade from the fair smooth brow and rounded cheek, 
As fades the crimson from a morning cloud. 
Till they were white as marble, and the breath 
Had ceased to come and go, yet knew she not 
At lir,'t that this was death. But when she marked 
l[ow deep the paleness was, how motionless 
Tliat once lithe form, a fear came over her. 
Slie strove to wake the sleeper, plucked her robe, 
And shouted in her ear, but all in vain ; 
The life had passed away from those young limbs. 
Then the snow-maiden raised a wailing cry. 
Such as the dweller in some lonely wild, 
Sleepless through all the long December night, 
flears when the mournful East begins to blow. 
But suddenly was heard the sound of steps. 
Grating on the cr'^p snow ; the cottagers 
Were seeking Eva ; from afar they saw 
The twain, and hurried toward them. As they cam^ 
Witlj gentle chi dings ready on their lips. 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE 8N0W. 345 

And marked that deathlike sleep, and heard the tale 

Of the snow-maiden, mortal anguish fell 

Upon their hearts, and bitter words of grief 

And blame were uttered : " Cruel, cruel one. 

To tempt our daughter thus, and cruel we, 

Who suffered her to wander forth alone 

In this fierce cold ! " They lifted the dear child, 

And bore her home and chafed her tender limbs, 

And strove, by all the simple arts they knew. 

To make the chilled blood move, and win the breath 

Back to her bosom ; fruitlessly they strove ; 

The little maid was dead. In blank despair 

They stood, and gazed at her who never more 

Should look on them. " Why die we not with her ? " 

They said ; " without her, life is bitterness." 

Now came the funeral-day ; the simple folk 
Of all that pastoral region gathered round 
To share the sorrow of the cottagers. 
They carved a way into the mound of snow 
To the glen's side, and dug a little grave 
In the smooth slope, and, following the bier, 
In long procession from the silent door, 
Chanted a sad and solemn melody. 

" Lay her away to rest within the ground. 
Yea, lay her down whose pure and innocent life 
Was spotless as these snows ; for she was reared 
In love, and passed in love life's pleasant spring, 
And all that now our tenderest love can do 
Is to give burial to her lifeless limbs." 

They paused. A thousand slender voices round, 
Like echoes softly flung from rock and hill, 
Took up the strain, and all the hollow air 
Seemed mourning for the dead ; for, on that day 
The Little People of the Snow had come, 
From mountain-peak, and cloud, and icy hall, 
To Eva's burial. As the murmur died 
The funeral-train renewed the solemn chant : 

" Thou, Lord, hast taken her to be with Eve, 



346 LATER POEMS. 

Whose gentle name was given her. Even so, 
F'or so Thy wisdom saw that it was best 
For her and us. We bring our bleeding hearts', 
And ask the touch of healing from Thy hand, 
As, with submissive tears, we render back 
The lovely and beloved to Him who gave." 

They ceased. Again the plaintive murmur rose. 
From shadowy skirts of low-hung cloud it came, 
And wide white fields, and fir-trees capped with sno^ 
Shivering to the sad sounds. They sank away 
To silence in the dim-seen distant woods. 

The little grave was closed ; the funeral-train 
Departed ; winter wore away ; the Spring 
Steeped, with her quickening rains, the violet-tufts, 
By fond hands planted where the maiden slept. 
But, after Eva's burial, never more 
The Little People of the Snow were seen 
By human eye, nor ever human ear 
Heard from their lips, articulate speech again ; 
For a decree went forth to cut them off. 
Forever, from communion with mankind. 
The winter-clouds, along the mountain-side, 
Rolled downward toward the vale, but no fair form 
Leaned from their folds, and, in the icy glens, 
And aged woods, under snovp-loaded pines. 
Where once they made their haunt, was emptiness 

But ever, when the wintry days drew near, 
Around that little grave, in the long night, 
Frost-wreaths were laid and tufts of silvery rime 
In shape like blades and blossoms of the field, 
Ls one v^ould scatter flowers upon a bier. 



THE POKT. 347 



THE POET 

Thou, who wouldst wear the name 
Of poet 'mid thy brethren of mankind, 

And clothe in words of flame 
Thoughts that shall live within the general mind I 

Deem not the framing of a deathless lay 

The pastime of a drowsy summer day. 

But gather all thy powers, 

And wreak them on the verse that thou dost wea?e 
And in thy lonely hours. 

At silent morning or at wakeful eve. 
While the warm current tingles through thy veiue. 
Set forth the burning words in fluent strains. 

No smooth array of phrase, 

Artfully sought and ordered though it be, 
Which the cold rhymer lays 

Upon his page with languid industry, 
Can wake the listless pulse to livelier speed, 
Or fill with sudden tears the eyes that read. 

The secret wouldst thou know 

To touch the heart or fire the blood at will ? 
Let thine own eyes overflow ; 

Let thy lips quiver with the passionate thrill ; 
Seize the great thought, ere yet its power be pasf , 
And bind, in words, the fleet emotion fast. 

Tl en, should thy verse appear 

Halting and harsh, and all unaptly wrought. 
Touch the crude line with fear, 

Save in the moment of impassioned thought ; 



848 LA.TER POEMS. 

Then summon back the ongiual glow, and mend 
The strain with rapture that with fire was penned. 

Yet let no empty gust 

Of passion find an utterance in thy lay, 
A blast that whirls the dust 

Along the howling street and dies away ; 
But feelings of calm power and mighty sweep, 
Like currents journeying through the windless deep. 

Seek'st thou, in living lays, 

To limn the beauty of the earth and sky ? 
Before thine inner gaze 

Let all that beauty in clear vision lie ; 
Look on it with exceeding love, and write 
The words inspired by wonder and delight. 

Of tempests wouldst thou sing. 

Or tell of battles — make thyself a part 

Of the great tumult ; cling 

To the tossed wreck with terror in thy heart ; 

Scale, with the assaulting host, the rampart's height 

And strike and struggle in the thickest fight. 



•oo* 



So shalt thou frame a lay 

That haply may endure from age to age. 
And they who read shall say : 

" What witchery hangs upon this poet's page ! 
Wliat art is his the written spells to find 
That sway from mood to mood the willing mind f " 



THE PATH. 349 



THE PATH. 



The path we planned beneath October's sky, 
Along the hill-side, through the woodland shade, 

Is finished ; thanks to thee, whose kindly eye 
Has watched me, as I pUed the busy spade ; 

Else had I wearied, ere this path of ours 

Had pierced the woodland to its inner bowers. 

Yet, 'twas a pleasant toil to trace and beat, 
Among the glowing trees, this winding way, 

While the sweet autumn sunshine, doubly sweet, 
Flushed with the ruddy foliage, round us lay, 

As if some gorgeous cloud of morning stood, 

In glory, mid the arches of the wood. 

A path ! what beauty does a path bestow 
Even on the dreariest wild ! its savage nooks 

Seem homelike where accustomed footsteps go, 
And the grim rock puts on familiar looks. 

The tangled swamp, through which a pathway strays 

Becomes a garden with strange flowers and sprays. 

See, from the weedy earth a rivulet break 
And purl along the untrodden wilderness ; 

There the shy cuckoo comes his thirst to slake. 
There the shrill jay alights his plumes to dreas; 

And there the stealthy fox, when morn id gray, 

Laps the clear stream and lightly moves away. 

But let a path approach that fountain's brink. 

And nobler forms of life, behold ! are there : 
Boys kneeling with protruded lips to drink. 

And slender maids that homeward slowly beat 



650 LATER POEMS. 

The brimming pail, and busy dames that lay 
Their webs to whiten in the summer ray. 

Then know we that for herd and flock are poured 
Those pleasant streams that o'er the pebbles slip ; 

Those pure sweet waters sparkle on the board ; 
Those fresh cool waters wet the sick man's lip; 

Those clear bright waters from the font are shed. 

[n dews of baptism on the infant's head. 

What different steps the rural footway trace ' 

The laborer afield at early day ; 
The schoolboy sauntering with uneven pace ; 

The Sunday worshipper in fresh array , 
And mourner in the weeds of sorro\, drest ; 
And, smiling to himself, the wedding guest. 

There he who cons a speech and he who hums 
His yet unfinished verses, musing walk. 

There, with her little brood, the matron comes, 
To break the spring flower frooa its juicy stalk; 

And lovers, loitering, wonder that the moon 

Bas risen upon their pleasant stroll so soon. 

Bewildered in vast woods, the traveller feels 
His heavy heart grow lighter, if he meet 

The traces of a path, and straight he kneels, 
And kisses the dear print of human feet, 

And thanks his God, and journeys without fear, 

For now he knows the abodes of men ax'e near. 

Pursue the slenderest path across a lawn ; 

Lo ! on the broad highway it issues forth, 
Ind, blended with the greater track, goes on, 

Over the surface of the mighty earth, 
Olimbs hills and crosses vales, and stretches far, 
Vhrough silent forests, toward the evening star—. 



THE EETUEN OF THE BIRDS. 851 

A.nd enters cities murmuring with the feet 
Of multitudes, and wanders forth again, 

And joins the climes of frost to climes of heat. 
Binds East to West, and marries main to main, 

NTor stays till at the loDg-resounding shore 

Of the great deep, where paths are known no more. 

Oh, mighty instinct, that dost thus unite 

Earth's neighborhoods and tribes with friendly bandfl 
What guilt is theirs who, in their greed or spite, 

Undo thy holy work with violent hands ! 
And post their squadrons, nursed in war's grim trade, 
To bar the ways for mutual succor made. 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

[ HEAR, from many a little throat, 

A warble interrupted long ; 
I hear the robin's flute-like note. 

The bluebird's slenderer song. 

Brown meadows and the russet hill, 
Not yet the haunt of grazing herds, 

And thickets by the glimmering rill, 
Are all alive with birds. 

Oh choir of spring, why come so soon ? 

On leafless grove and herbless lawn 
Warm lie the yellow beams of noon ; 

Yet winter is not gone. 

For frost shall sheet the pools again ; 

Again the blustering East shall blow- 
Whirl a white tempest through the glen, 

And load the pines with snow. 



Bfi2 LATBB POEMS. 

Yet, haply, from the region where, 
Waked by an earHer spring than here, 

The blossomed wild-plum scents the air, 
Ye come in haste and fear. 

For there is heard the bugle-blast, 
The booming gun, the jarring drum, 

And on their chargers, spurring fast. 
Armed warriors go and come. 

There mighty hosts have pitched the camp 
In valleys that were yours till then. 

And Earth has shuddered to the tramp 
Of half a million men ! 

In groves where once ye used to sing. 
In orchards where ye had your birth, 

A thousand glittering axes swing 
To smite the trees to earth. 

Ye love the fields by ploughmen trod ; 

But there, when sprouts the beecben spraj 
The soldier only breaks the sod 

To hide the slain away. 

Stay, then, beneath our ruder sky ; 

Heed not the storm-clouds rising black, 
Nor yelling winds that with them fly ; 

Nor let them fright you back, — 

Back to the stifling battle-cloud, 
To burning towns that blot the day, 

And trains of mounting dust that shroud 
The armies on their way. 

Stay, for a tint of green shall creep 
Soon o'er the orchard's grassy floor. 



•*. . . ALL THINGS UNDER HIS FEET." 353 

And from its bed the crocus peep 
Beside the housewife's door. 

Here build, and dread no harsher sound, 
To scare you from the sheltering tree, 

Than winds that stir the branches round, 
And murmur of the bee. 

And we will pray that, ere again 

The flowers of autumn bloom and die, 

Our generals and their strong-armed men 
May lay their weapons by. 

Then may ye warble, unafraid, 

"Where hands, that wear the fetter now, 

Free as your wings shall ply the spade, 
And guide the peaceful plough. 

Then, as our conquering hosts return, 
What shouts of jubilee shall break 
, From placid vale and mountain stem, 

And shore of mighty lake I 

And midland plain and ocean-strand 
Shall thunder : " Glory to the brave, 

Peace to the torn and bleeding land, 
And freedom to the slave ! " 
^arth, 1864. 



« HE HATH PUT ALL THINGS UNDER HIS FEET 

North, with all thy vales of green ! 

South, with all thy palms ! 
From peopled towns and fields between 

Uplift the voice of psalms : 
23 



8B4 LATEE POEMS. 

Raise, ancient East, the anthem high. 
And let the youthful West reply. 

Lo! in the clouds of heaven appears 

God's well-beloved Son ; 
He brings a train of brighter years 

His kingdom is begun. 
He comes, a guilty world to bless 
With mercy, truth and righteousness. 

Oh, Father ! haste the promised hour, 
When, at His feet, shall lie 

All rule, authority, and power. 
Beneath the ample sky ; 

When He shall reign from pole to pole, 

The lord of every human soul. 

When all shall heed the words He said 

Amid their daily cares, 
And, by the loving life He led. 

Shall seek to pattern theirs ; 
And He, who conquered Death, shall wiu 
The nobler conquest over Sin. 



MY AUTUMN WALK. 

On woodlands ruddy with autumn 

The amber sunshine lies ; 
I look on the beauty round me, 

And tears come into my eyes. 

For the wind that sweeps the meadows 
Blows out of the far Southwest, 

Where our gallant men are fighting, 
And the gallant dead are at rest. 



MY AIJTUMlSr WALK. 355 

The golden-rod is leaning, 

And the purple aster waves 
In a breeze from the land of battles, 

A breath from the land of graves. 

Full fast the leaves are dropping 
Before that wandering breath ; 

As fast, on the field of battle, 
Our brethren fall in death 

Beautiful over my pathway 

The forest spoils are shed ; 
They are spotting the grassy hillocks 

With purple and gold and red. 

Beautiful is the death-sleep 

Of those who bravely fight 
In their country's holy quarrel, 

And perish for the Right. 

But who shall comfort the living. 
The light of whose homes is gone : 

The bride that, early widowed, 
laves broken-hearted on ; 

The matron whose sons are lying 

In graves on a distant shore ; 
The maiden, whose promised husband 

Comes back from the war no more ? 

I look on the peaceful dwellings 
Whose windows glimmer in sight, 

With croft and garden and orchard, 
That bask in the mellow light ; 

ind 1 know that, when our couriers 
With news of victory come. 



856 LATEE POEMS. 

They will bring a bitter message 
Of hopeless grief to some. 

Again I turn to the woodlands, 

And shudder as I see 
The mock-grape's blood-red banner 

Hung out on the cedar-tree ; 

And I think of days of slaughter, 
And the night-sky red with flameB, 

On the Chattahoochee's meadows, 
And the wasted banks of the James. 

Oh, for the fresh spring-season, 

When the groves are in their prime; 

And far away in the future 
Is the frosty autumn-time ! 

Oh, for that better season, 

When the pride of the foe shall yield, 
And the hosts of God and Freedom 

March back from the well-won field ; 

And the matron shall clasp her first-borf 
With tears of joy and pride ; 

And the scarred and war-worn lover 
Shall claim his promised bride ! 

The leaves are swept from the branch^; 

But the living buds are there, 
With folded flower and foliage, 
To sprout in a kinder air. 
October, 1864 



Dante. SoV 



DANTE. 

Who, mid the grasses of the field 
That spring beneath our careless feet, 

First found the shining stems that yield 
The grains of life-sustaining wheat : 

Who first, upon the furrowed land. 

Strewed the bright grains to sprout, and grow 
And ripen for the reaper's hand — 

We know not, and we cannot know. 

But well we know the hand that brought 
And scattered, far as sight can reach, 

The seeds of free and living thought 
On the broad field of modern speech. 

Mid the white hills that round us lie. 
We cherish that Great Sower's fame. 

And, as we pile the sheaves on high, 
With awe we utter Dante's name. 

Six centuries, since the poet's birth. 

Have come and flitted o'er our sphere: 
The richest harvest reaped on earth 
Crowns the last century's closing year 
1866. 



8A8 LATBB P0£M8 



THE DEATH OF LINCOLN 

Oh, slow to smite and swift to spare, 
Gentle and merciful and just ! 

Who, in the fear of God, didst bear 
The sword of power, a nation's trust ! 

In sorrow by thy bier we stand. 
Amid the awe that hushes all, 

And speak the anguish of a land 
That shook with horror at thy fall. 

Thy task is done ; the bond are free : 
We bear thee to an honored grave, 

Whose proudest monument shall be 
The broken fetters of the slave. 

Pure was thy life ; its bloody close 

Hath placed thee with the sons of light. 

Among the noble host of those 

Who perished in the cause of Right. 
ift-iK 1865. 



THE DEATH OF SLAVERY 

3 THOU great Wrong, that, through the slow-paced yeara, 
Didst hold thy millions fettered, and didst wield 
The scourge that drove the laborer to the field, 
Ind turn a stony gaze on human tears. 
Thy cruel reign is o'er ; 
Thy bondmen crouch no more 



THE DEATH OF SLAVERY. 359 

In terror at the menace of thine eye ; 

For He who marks the bounds of guilty power, 
Long-suffering, hath heard the captive's cry, 

And touched his shackles at the appointed hour, 
And lo ! they fall, and he whose limbs they galled 
Stands in his native manhood, disenthralled. 

A shout of joy from the redeemed is sent; 

Ten thousand hamlets swell the hymn of thanks j 
i_ Our rivers roll exulting, and their banks 
Send up hosannas to the firmament ! 

Fields where the bondman's toil 
No more shall trench the soil, 
Seem now to bask in a serener day ; 

The meadow-birds sing sweeter, and the airs 
Of heaven with more caressing softness play, 

Welcoming man to liberty like theirs. 
A glory clothes the land from sea to sea, 
For the great land and all its coasts are free. 

Within that land wert thou enthroned of late, 
And they by whom the nation's laws were made, 
And they who filled its judgment-seats obeyed 

Thy mandate, rigid as the will of Fate. 

Fierce men at thy right hand, 
With gesture of command. 

Gave forth the word that none might dare gainsay ; 
And grave and reverend ones who loved thee not 

Shrank from thy presence, and in blank dismay 
Choked down, unuttered, the rebellious thought ; 

While meaner cowards, mingling with thy train, 

proved, from the book of God, thy right to reign. 

3reat as thou wert, and feared from shore to shore, 
The wrath of Heaven o'ertook thee in thy pride ; 
Thou sitt'st a ghastly shadow ; by thy side 

Thy once strong arms hang nerveless evermore. 



860 LATER POEMS. 

And they who quailed but now 
Before thy lowering brow, 
Devote thy memory to scorn and shame, 

And scoff at the pale, powerless thing thou art 
And they who ruled in thine imperial name, 

Subdued, and standing sullenly apart. 
Scowl at the hands that overthrew thy reign, 
And shattered at a blow the prisoner's chain. 

Well was thy doom deserved ; thou didst not spare 
Life's tenderest ties, but cruelly didst part 
Husband and wife, and from the mother's heart 

Didst wrest her children, deaf to shriek and prayer ; 
Thy inner lair became 
The haunt of guilty shame; 

Thy lash dropped blood ; the murderer, at thy side. 
Showed his red hands, nor feared the vengeance dof 

Thou didst sow earth with crimes, and, far and wide, 
A harvest of uncounted miseries grew. 

Until the measure of thy sins at last 

Was full, and then the avenging bolt was east ! 

Go now, accursed of God, and take thy place 
With hateful memories of the elder time. 
With many a wasting plague, and nameless crime^ 

And bloody war that thinned the human race ; 
With the Black Death, whose way 
Through wailing cities lay, 

Worship of Moloch, tyrannies that built 
The Pyramids, and cruel creeds that taught 

To avenge a fancied guilt by deeper guilt — 
Death at the stake to those that held them not 

(jO ! the foul phantoms, silent in the gloom 

Of the flown ages, part to yield thee room. 

I see the better years that hasten by 
Carry thee back into that shadowy past, 



"eeoeive thy sight." 36> 

Where, in the dusty spaces, void and vast. 
The graves of those whom thou hast murdered lie. 
The slave-pen, through whose door 
Thy victims pass no more, 
Is there, and there shall the grim block remain 

At which the slave was sold ; while at thy feet 
Scourges and engines of restraint and pain 

Moulder and rust by thine eternal seat. 
There, mid the symbols that proclaim thy crimes. 
Dwell thou, a warning to the coming times. 

Ma/y, 1866. 



"KECEIVE THY SIGHT." 

When the blind suppliant in the way, 
By friendly hands to Jesus led. 

Prayed to behold the light of day, 

" Receive thy sight," the Saviour said. 

At once he saw the pleasant rays 
That lit the glorious firmament 

And, with firm step and words of praise, 
He followed where the Master went. 

Look down in pity. Lord, we pray. 
On eyes oppressed by moral night, 

And touch the darkened lids and say 
The gracious words, " Receive thy sight ' 

Then, in clear daylight, shall we see 
Where walked the sinless Son of God ; 

And, aided by new strength from Thee, 
Press onward in the path He trod 



B62 LATEB POEMS. 



A BRIGHTER DAY. 

FROM THE SPANISH. 

Harness the impatient Years, 
Time ! and yoke them to the imperial car j 

For, through a mist of tears, 

The brighter day appears, 
Whose early blushes tinge the hills afar. 

A brighter day for thee, 
realm ! whose glorious iields are spread between 

The dark-blue Midland Sea 

And that immensity 
Of Western waters which once hailed thee queen! 

The fiery coursers fling 
Their necks aloft, and snuft' the morning wind, 

Till the fleet moments bring 

The expected sign to spring 
Along their path, and leave these glooms behind. 

Yoke them, and yield the reins 
To Spain, and lead her to the lofty seat ; 
But, ere she mount, the chains 
Whose cruel strength constrains 
Her limbs must fall in fragments at her feet. 

A tyrant brood have wound 
A.bout her helpless limbs the steely braid, 
And toward a gulf profound 
They drag her, gagged and bound, 
Down among dead men's bones, and frost and shad« 



A BEIGHTER DAY. BQ2 

Spain ! thou wert of yore 
The wonder of the realms ; in prouder years 

Thy haughty forehead wore, 

What it shall wear no more, 
The diadem of both the hemispheres. 

To thee the ancient Deep 
Revealed his pleasant, undiscovered lands ; 
From mines where jewels sleep, 
Tilled plain and vine-clad steep, 
Earth's richest spoil was oflFered to thy hands. 

Yet thou, when land and sea 
Sent thee their tribute with each rolling wave, 

And kingdoms crouched to thee, 

Wert false to Liberty, 
And therefore art thou now a shackled slave. 

Wilt thou not, yet again. 
Put forth the sleeping strength that in thee liesi 

And snap the shameful chain, 

And force that tyrant train 
To flee before the anger in thine eyes ? 

Then shall the harnessed Years 
Sweep onward with thee to that glorious height 
Which even now appears 
Bright through the mist of tears, 
The dwelling-place of Liberty and Light 

October, 1S67. 



864 LATEB POEMS. 



AMONG THE TREES. 

Oh ye who love to overhang the springs, 

And stand by running waters, ye whose boughs 

Make beautiful the rocks o'er which they play, 

Who pile with foliage the great hills, and rear 

A paradise upon the lonely plain, 

Trees of the forest, and the open field ! 

Have ye no sense of being ? Does the air. 

The pure air, which I breathe with gladness, pass 

In gushes o'er your delicate hmgs, your leaves, 

All unenjoyed ? When on your winter sleep 

The sun shines warm, have ye no dreams of spring ! 

And when the glorious spring-time comes at last, 

Have ye no joy of all your bui'sting buds. 

And fragrant blooms, and melody of birds 

To which your young leaves shiver? Do ye strive 

And wrestle with the wind, yet know it not ? 

Feel ye no glory in your strength when he, 

The exhausted Blusterer, flies beyond the hills. 

And leaves you stronger yet? Or have ye not 

A sense of loss when he has stripped your leaves, 

Yet tender, and has splintered your fair boughs ? 

Does the loud bolt that smites you from the cloud 

And rends you, fall unfelt ? Do there not run 

Strange shudderings through your fibres when the axe 

Is raised against you, and the shining blade 

Deals blow on blow, until, with all their boughs, 

Your summits-waver and ye fall to earth ? 

Know ye no sadness when the hurricane 

Has swept the wood and snapped its sturdy steins 

Asunder, or has wrenched, from out the soil, 

The mightiest with their circles of strong roots, 

ind piled the ruin all along his path ? 



AMONG THE TEKES. 365 

Nay, doubt we not that under the rough rind, 
In the green veins of these fair growths of earth, 
There dwells a nature that receives delight 
From all the gentle processes of life, 
(And shrinks from loss of being. Dim and faint 
May be the sense of pleasure and of pain. 
As in our dreams ; but, haply, real still. 

Our sorrows touch you not. We watch beside 
The beds of those who languish or who die, 
And minister in sadness, while our hearts 
Offer perpetual prayer for life and ease 
And health to the beloved sufferers. 
But ye, while anxious fear and fainting hope 
Are in our chambers, ye rejoice without. 
The funeral goes forth ; a silent train 
Moves slowly from the desolate home ; our hearts 
Are breaking as we lay away the loved, 
Whom we shall see no more, in their last rest. 
Their little cells within the burial-place. 
Ye have no part in this distress ; for still 
The February sunshine steeps your boughs 
And tints the buds and swells the leaves within ; 
While the song-sparrow, warbling from her perch. 
Tells you that spring is near. The wind of May 
Is sweet with breath of orchards, in whose boughs 
The bees and every insect of the air 
Make a perpetual murmur of delight. 
And by whose flowers the humming-bird hangs poised 
In air, and draws their sweets and darts away. 
The linden, in the fervors of July, 
Hums with a louder concert. When the wind 
Sweeps the broad forest in its summer prime, 
As when some master-hand exulting sweeps 
The keys of some great organ, ye give forth 
The music of the woodland depths, a hymn 
Of gladness and of thanks. The hermit-thrush 
pipes his sweet note to make your arches ring. 



866 LATER P0EM6. 

The faithful robiu, from the wayside ehn, 

Carols all day to cheer his sitting mate, 

And when the autumn comes, the kings of earth, 

In all their majesty, are not arrayed 

As ye are, clothing the broad mountain-side 

And spotting the smooth vales with red and gold 

While, swaying to the sudden breeze, ye fling 

Your nuts to earth, and the brisk squirrel comes 

To gather them, and barks with childish glee, 

And scampers with them to his hollow oak. 

Thus, as the seasons pass, ye keep alive 
The cheerfulness of Nature, till in time 
The constant misery which wrings the heart 
Relents, and we rejoice with you again. 
And glory in your beauty ; till once more 
We look with pleasure on your varnished leaves, 
That gayly glance in sunshine, and can hear. 
Delighted, the soft answer which your boughs 
Utter in whispers to the babbling brook. 

Ye have no history. I cannot know 
Who, when the hill-side trees were hewn away, 
Haply two centuries since, bade spare this oak, 
Leaning to shade, with his irregular arms. 
Low-bent and long, the fount that from his roots 
Slips through a bed of cresses toward the bay, 
I know not who, but thank him that he left 
The tree to flourish where the acorn fell. 
And join these later days to that far time 
While yet the Indian hunter drew the bow 
In the dim woods, and the white woodman first 
Opened these fields to sunshine, turned the soil 
4.nd strewed the wheat, An unremembered Past 
Broods, like a presence, 'mid the long gray boughs 
Of this old tree, which has outlived so long 
The flitting generations of mankind. 



AMONG THE TREES. 367 

Ye have no history. I ask in vain 
Who planted on the slope this lofty group 
Of ancient pear-trees that with spring-time burst 
Into such breadth of bloom. One bears a scar 
Where the quick Hghtning scored its trunk, yet still 
It feels the breath of Spring, and every May 
Is white with blossoms. Who it was that laid 
Their infant roots in earth, and tenderly 
Cherished the delicate sprays, I ask in vain, 
Yet bless the unknown hand to which I owe 
This annual festival of bees, these songs 
Of birds within their leafy screen, these shouts 
Of joy from children gathering \ip the fruit 
Shaken in August from the willing boughs. 

Ye that my hands have planted, or have spared, 
Beside the way, or in the orchard-ground, 
Or in the open meadow, ye whose boughs 
With every summer spread a wider shade. 
Whose herd in coming years shall he at rest 
Beneath your noontide shelter ? who shall pluck 
Your ripened fruit ? who grave, as was the wont 
Of simple pastoral ages, on the rind 
Of my smooth beeches some beloved name ? 
Idly I ask ; yet may the eyes that look 
Upon you, in your later, nobler growth, 
Look also on a nobler age than ours ; 
A.n age when, in the eternal strife between 
Evil and Good, the Power of Good shall win 
A grander ma,stery ; when kings no more 
Shall surnraon millions from the plough to learn 
The trad-3 of slaughter, and of populous realms 
Make cviraps jf war ; when in our younger land 
The hand of ruflBan Violence, that now 
Is insolently raised to smite, shall fall 
Unnerved before the calm rebuke of Law, 
Ajid Fraud, his sly confederate, shrink, in shame, 
Back to his covert, and forego his prey. 



B68 LA.TEB POEira 



MAY EVENING. 

Che breath of Spring-time at this twilight hour 
Comes through the gathering glooms, 

And bears the stolen sweets of many a flower 
Into my silent rooms. 

Where hast thou wandered, gentle gale, to find 

The perfumes thou dost bring ? 
By brooks, that through the wakening meadows winc^ 

Or brink of rushy spring ? 

Or woodside, where, in little companies, 

The early wild-flowers rise, 
Or sheltered lawn, where, 'mid encircling trees, 

May's warmest sunshine lies ? 

Now sleeps the humming-bird, that, in the sun, 
Wandered from bloom to bloom ; 

Now, too, the weary bee, his day's work done, 
Rests in his waxen room. 

Now every hov^ering insect to his place 

Beneath the leaves hath flown ; 
And, through the long-night hours, the flowery rac* 

Are left to thee alone. 

O'er the pale blossoms of the sassafras 

And o'er the spice-bush spray, 
Among the opening buds, thy breathings pasg. 

And come embalmed away. 



MAY EVENING. 86£ 

Yet there is sadness in tliy soft caress, 

Wind of the blooming year ! 
The gentle presence, that was wont to bless 

Thy coming, is not here. 

Go, then ; and yet I bid thee not repair. 

Thy gathered sweets to shed, 
WLere pine and willow, in the evening air, 

Sigh o'er the buried dead. 

Pass on to homes where cheerful voices sound. 

And cheerful looks are cast. 
And where thou wakest, in thine airy round, 

No sorrow of the past. 

Refresh the languid student pausing o'er 

The learned page apart, 
And he shall turn to con his task once more 

With an encouraged heart. 

Bear thou a promise, from the fragrant sward 

To him who tills the land, 
Of springing harvests that shall yet reward 

The labors of his hand. 

And vhisper, everywhere, that Earth renews 

Her beautiful array. 
Amid the darkness and the gathering dews, 

For the return of day. 



24 



370 LATER P0EM8. 



OCTOBER, 1866. 

'TwAS when the earth in summer glory lay, 
We bore thee to thy grave ; a sudden cloud 

Had shed its shower and passed, and every spray 
And tender herb with pearly moisture bowed. 

How laughed the fields, and how, before our door, 
Danced the bright waters ! — from his perch on high 

The hang-bird sang his ditty o'er and o'er, 

And the song-sparrow from the shrubberies nigh. 

Yet was the home where thou wert lying dead 
Mournfully still, save when, at times, was heard, 

From room to room, some softly-moving tread, 
Or murmur of some softly-uttered word. 

Feared they to break thy slumber ? As we threw 
A look on that bright bay and glorious shore. 

Our hearts were wrung with anguish, for we knew 
Those sleeping eyes would look on them no more. 

Autumn is here ; we cull his lingering flowers 
And bring them to the spot where thou art laid; 

The late-born offspring of his balmier hours. 
Spared by the frost, upon thy grave to fade. 

The sweet calm sunshine of October, now 
Warms the low spot ; upon its grassy mould 

The purple oak-leaf falls ; the birchen bough 
Drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold. 

And gorgeous as the morn, a tall array 

Of woodland shelters the smooth fields around ; 

And guarded by its headlands, far away 
Sail-spotted, blue and lake-like, sleeps the sound. 



OCTOBER, 1866. 371 

I gaze in sadness ; it delights me not 

To look on beauty which thou canst not see; 

And, wert thou by my side, the dreariest spot 
Were, oh, how far more beautiful to me ! 

In what fair region dost thou now abide ? 

Hath God, in the transparent deeps of space, 
Through which the planets in their journey glide. 

Prepared, for souls like thine, a dwelling-place ? 

Fields of unwithering bloom, to mortal eye 
Invisible, though mortal eye were near. 

Musical groves, and bright streams murmuring by, 
Heard only by the spiritual ear ? 

Nay, let us deem that thou dost not withdraw 
From the dear places where thy lot was cast. 

And where thy heart, in love's most holy law. 
Was schooled by all the memories of the past. 

Here on this earth, where once, among mankind, 
Walked God's beloved Son, thine eyes may see 

Beauty to which our dimmer sense is blind 
And glory that may make it heaven to thee. 

May we not think that near us thou dost stand 
With loving ministrations, for we know 

Thy heart was never happy when thy hand 
Was forced its tasks of mercy to forego ! 

Mayst thou not prompt, with every coming day, 
The generous aim and act, and gently win 

Our restless, wandering thoughts to turn away 
From every treacherous path that ends in sin ! 



372 LATER POEMS. 



THE ORDER OF NATURE. 

FROM BOETHIUS DE CONSOLATIONE. 

Thou who wouldst read, with an undarkened eye, 
The laws by which the Thunderer bears sway, 

Look at the stars that keep, in yonder sky. 
Unbroken peace from Nature's earliest day. 

The great sun, as he guides his fiery car, 

Strikes not the cold moon in his rapid sweep, 

The Bear, that sees star setting after star 
In the blue brine, descends not to the deep. 

The star of eve still leads the hour of dews ; 

Duly the day-star ushers in the light ; 
With kindly alternations Love renews 

The eternal courses bringing day and night. 

Love drives away the brawler War, and keeps 
The realm and host of stars beyond his reach ; 

In one long calm the general concord steeps 
The elements, and tempers each to each. 

The moist gives place benignly to the dry ; 

Heat ratifies a faithful league with cold ; 
The nimble flame springs upward to the sky ; 

Down sinks by its own weight the sluggish mould 

Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime ; 

Her harvests still the ripening Summer yields ; 
Fruit-laden Autumn follows in his time, 

And rainy Winter waters still the fields. 



TEEE-BTJEIAL. 373 

The elemental harmony bi'ings forth 

And rears all life, and, when life's term is o'er, 

It sweeps the breathing myriads from the earth, 
And whelms and hides them to be seen no more ; 

While the great Founder, he who gave these laws, 
Holds the firm reins and sits amid his skies 

Monarch and Master, Origin and Cause, 
And Arbiter supremely just and wise. 

He guides the force he gave ; his hand restrains 
And curbs it to the circle it must trace: 

Else the fair fabric which his power sustains 
Would fall to fragments in the void of space. 

Love binds the parts together, gladly still 

They court the kind restraint nor would be free ; 

Unless Love held them subject to the Will 
That gave them being, they would cease to be. 



TKEE-BURIAL. 



Near our southwestern border, when a child 

Dies in the cabin of an Indian wife, 

She makes its funeral-couch of delicate furs, 

Blankets and bark, and binds it to the bough 

Of some broad branching tree with leathern thongs 

And sinews of the deer. A mother once 

Wrought at this tender task, and murmured thus : 

" Child of my love, I do not lay thee down 
Among the chilly clods where never comes 
The pleasant sunshine. There the greedy wolf 
Might break into thy grave and tear thee thence, 
And I should sorrow all my life. I make 



374 LATEE POEMS. 

Thy burial-place here, where the light of day 
Shines round thee, and the airs that play among 
The boughs shall rock thee. Here the morning sun, 
Which woke thee once from sleep to smile on me, 
Shall beam upon thy bed and sweetly here 
Shall lie the red light of the evening clouds 
Which called thee once to slumber. Here the stars 
Shall look upon thee — the bright stars of heaven 
Which thou didst wonder at. Here too the birds, 
Whose music thou didst love, shall sing to thee. 
And near thee build their nests and rear their young 
With none to scare them. Here the woodland flowers 
Whose opening in the spring-time thou didst greet 
With shouts of joy, and which so well became 
Thy pretty hands when thou didst gather them, 
Shall spot the ground below thy little bed. 

*' Yet haply thou hast fairer flowers than these, 
Which, in the land of souls, ihy spirit plucks 
In fields that wither not, amid the throng 
Of joyous children, like thyself, who went 
Before thee to that brighter world and sport 
Eternally beneath its cloudless skies. 
Sport with them, dear, dear child, until I come 
To dwell with thee, and thou, beholding me. 
From far, shalt run and leap into my arms. 
And I shall clasp thee as I clasped thee here 
While living, oh most beautiful and sweet, 
Of children, now more passing beautiful, 
If that can be, with eyes like summer stars — 
A light that death can never quench again. 

" And now, oh wind, that here among the leaves 
Dost softly rustle, breathe thou ever thus 
Gently, and put not forth thy strength to tear 
The branches and let fall their precious load, 
A prey to foxes. Thou, too, ancient sun, 
Beneath whose eye the seasons come and go. 
And generations rise and pass away. 
While thou dost never change — oh, call not up 



A LEGEND OF THE DELAWAEES. 375 

With thy strong heats, the dark, grim thunder-cloud, 

To smite this tree with bolts of fire, and rend 

Its trunk and strew the earth with splintered boughs. 

Ye rains, fall softly on the couch that holds 

My darling. There the panther's spotted hide 

Shall turn aside the shower ; and be it long, 

Long after thou and I have met again. 

Ere summer wind or winter rain shall waste 

This couch and all that now remains of thee, 

To me thy mother. Meantime, while I live, 

With each returning sunrise I shall seem 

To see thy waking smile, and I shall weep ; 

And when the sun is setting I shall think 

How, as I watched thee, o'er thy sleepy eyes 

Drooped the smooth lids, and laid on the round cheek 

Their lashes, and my tears will flow again ; 

And often, at those moments, I shall seem 

To hear again the sweetly prattled name 

Which thou didst call me by, and it will haunt 

My home till I depart to be with thee." 



A LEGEND OF THE DELAWARES. 

The air is dark with cloud on cloud. 
And, through the leaden-colored mass, 

With thunder-crashes quick and loud, 
A thousand shafts of lightning pass. 

And to and fro they glance and go, 

Or, darting downward, smite the ground. 

What phantom arms are those that throw 
The shower of fiery arrows round ? 



376 LATEE POEMS. 

A louder crash ! a mighty oak 
Is smitten from that stormy sky. 

Its stem is shattered by the stroke ; 
Around its root the branches lie. 



Fresh breathes the wind ; the storm is o'er; 

The piles of mist are swept away; 
And from the open sky, once more, 

Streams gloriously the golden day. 

A dusky hunter of the wild 

Is passing near, and stops to see 

The wreck of splintered branches piled 
About the roots of that huge tree. 

Lo, quaintly shaped and fairly strung, 
Wrought by what hand he cannot know, 

On that drenched pile of boughs, among 
The splinters, lies a polished bow. 

He lifts it up ; the drops that hang 
On the smooth surface slide away : 

He tries the string, no sharper twang 
Was ever heard on battle-day. 

Homeward Onetho bears the prize : 
Who meets him as he turns to go ? 

An aged chief, with quick, keen eyes, 
And bending frame, and locks of snow. 

" See, what I bring, my father, see 
This goodly bow which I have found 

Beneath a thunder-riven tree. 

Dropped with the lightning to the ground." 



A LEGEND OF THE DELAWAEE8. 3Y7 

" Beware, my son ; it is not well " — 

The white-haired chieftain makes reply^ 

*' That we who in the forest dwell 
Should wield the weapons of the sky. 



* Lay back that weapon in its place ; 

Let those who bore it bear it still, 
Lest thou displease the ghostly race 

That float in mist from hill to hill." 



" My father, I will only try 

How well it sends a shaft, and then, 
Be sure, this goodly bow shall lie 

Among the splintered boughs again." 

So to the hunting-ground he hies, 
To chase till eve the forest-game, 

And not a single arrow flies. 

From that good bow, with erring aim. 

And then he deems that they, who swim 
In trains of cloud the middle air, 

Perchance had kindly thoughts of him 
And dropped the bow for him to bear. 

He bears it from that day, and soon 
Becomes the mark of every eye, 

And wins renown with every moon 
That fills its circle in the sky. 

None strike so surely in the chase ; 

None bring such trophies from the fight ; 
And, at the council-fire, his place 

Is with the wise and men of might. 



378 LATER POEMS. 

And far across the land is spread, 
Among the hunter tribes, his fame ; 

Men name the bowyer-chief with dread 
Whose arrows never miss their aim. 



See next his broad-roofed cabin rise 
On a smooth river's pleasant side, 

And she who has the brightest eyes 
Of all the tribe becomes his bride. 



A year has passed : the forest sleeps 
In early autumn's sultry glow ; 

Onetho, on the mountain-steeps, 
Is hunting with that trusty bow. 



But they, who by the river dwell, 
See the dim vapors thickening o'er 

Long mountain-range and severing dell, 
And hear the thunder's sullen roar. 



Still darker grows the spreading cloud 
From which the booming thunders sound, 

And stoops and hangs a shadowy shroud 
Above Onetho's hunting-ground. 

Then they who, from the river-vale. 
Are gazing on the distant storm, 

See in the mists that ride the gale. 
Dim shadows of the human form — 

Tall warriors, plumed, with streaming hair 
And lifted arms that bear the bow, 

And send athwart the murky air 
The arrowy lightnings to and fi'o. 



A LEGEND OF THE DELAWAEES. 379 

Loud is the tumult of an hour — 

Crash of torn boughs and howl of blast, 

And thunder-peal and pelting shower, 
And then the storm is overpast. 



Where is Onetho ? what delays 

His coming ? why should he remain 

Among the plashy woodland ways, 
Swoln brooks and boughs that drip with rain? 

He comes not, and the younger men 
Go forth to search the forest round. 

They track him to a mountain-glen. 
And find him lifeless on the ground. 

The goodly bow that was his pride 
Is gone, but there the arrows lie ; 

And now they know the death he died, 
Slain by the lightnings of the sky. 

They bear him thence in awe and fear 
Back to the vale with stealthy tread ; 

There silently, from far and near. 
The warriors gather round the dead. 

But in their homes the women bide ; 

Unseen they sit and weep apart. 
And, in her bower, Onetho's bride 

Is sobbing with a broken heart. 

They lay in earth their bowyer-chief, 
Ajid at his side their hands bestow 

His dreaded battle-axe and sheaf 
Of arrows, but without a bow. 



380 LATER POEMS. 

" Too soon he died ; it is not well " — 
The old men murmured, standing nigh, 

" That we, who in the forest dwell. 
Should wield the weapons of the sky." 



A LIFETIME. 



I SIT in the early twilight, 

And, through the gathering shade, 
I look on the fields around me 

Where yet a child I played. 

And I peer into the shadows, 
Till they seem to pass away, 

And the fields and their tiny brooklet 
Lie clear in the light of day. 

A delicate child and slender. 
With locks of light-brown hair. 

From knoll to knoll is leaping 
In the breezy summer air. 

He stoops to gather blossoms 
Where the running waters shine ; 

And I look on him with wonder, 
His eyes are so like mine. 

I look till the fields and brooklet 

Swim like a vision by, 
And a room in a lowly dwelling 

Lies clear before my eye. 



A LIFETIME. 



381 



There stand, in the clean-swept fireplace, 
Fresh boughs from the wood in bloom, 

And the birch-tree's fragrant branches 
Perfume the humble room. 



And there the child is standing 
By a stately lady's knee, 

And reading of ancient peoples 
And realms beyond the sea. 



Of the cruel King of Egypt 
Who made God's people slaves, 

And perished, with all his army, 
Drowned in the Red Sea waves ; 



Of Deborah who mustered 
Her brethren long oppressed, 

And routed the heathen army, 
And gave her people rest ; 



And the sadder, gentler story 

How Christ, the crucified, 
With a prayer for those who slew him, 

Forgave them as he died. 

I look again, and there rises 

A forest wide and wild. 
And in it the boy is wandering, 

No longer a little child. 

He murmurs his own rude verses 
As he roams the woods alone ; 

And again I gaze with wonder. 
His eyes are so like my own. 



382 LATEE POEMS. 

I see him next in his chamber, 
Where he sits him down to write 

The rhymes he framed in his ramble, 
And he cons them with deUo-ht. 



A kindly figure enters, 

A man of middle age. 
And points to a line just written, 

And 'tis blotted from the page. 



And next, in a hall of justice, 
Scarce grown to manly years, 

Mid the hoary-headed wranglers 
The slender youth appears. 

With a beating heart he rises, 

And with a burning cheek, 
And the judges kindly listen 

To hear the young man speak. 

Another change, and I see him 
Approach his dwelling-place 

Where a fair-haired woman meets him, 
With a smile on her young face — 

A smile that spreads a sunshine 
On lip and cheek and brow ; 

So sweet a smile there is not 
In all tjie wide earth now. 

She leads by the hand their first-born, 

A fair-haired little one, 
And their eyes as they meet him sparkle 

Like brooks in the morning sun. 



A LIFETIME. 383 



Another change, and I see him 
Where the city's ceaseless coil 

Sends up a mighty murmur 
From a thousand modes of toil. 



And there, 'mid the clash of presses, 

He plies the rapid pen 
In the battles of opinion, 

That divide the sons of men. 



I look and the clashing presses 
And the town are seen no more. 

But there is the poet wandering 
A strange and foreign shore. 

He has crossed the mighty ocean 

To realms that lie afar, 
In the region of ancient story, 

Beneath the morning star. 

And now he stands in wonder 

On an icy Alpine height ; 
Now pitches his tent in the desert 

Where the jackal yells at night ; 

Now, far on the North Sea islands. 
Sees day on the midnight sky, 

Now gathers the fair strange fruitage 
Where the isles of the Southland lie, 

I see him again at his dwelling, 
Where, over the little lake. 

The rose-trees droop in their beauty 
To meet the image they make. 



864 LATER POEMS. 

Though years have whitened his temples, 

His eyes have the first look still, 
Save a shade of settled sadness, 
. A forecast of coming ill. 



For in that pleasant dwelling, 
On the rack of ceaseless pain, 

Lies she who smiled so sweetly. 
And prays for ease in vain. 



And I know that his heart is breaking, 

When, over those dear eyes. 
The darkness slowly gathers, 

And the loved and loving dies. 

A grave is scooped on the hill-side 

Where often, at eve or morn. 
He lays the blooms of the garden — 

He, and his youngest born. 

And well I know that a brightness 
From his life has passed away, 

And a smile from the green earth's beauty, 
And a glory from the day. 

But I behold, above him, 

In the far blue deeps of air. 
Dim battlements shining faintly, 

And a, throng of faces there ; 

See over crystal barrier 

The airy figures bend. 
Like those who are watching and waiting 

The coming of a friend. 



THE TWO TEAVELLEEB. 385 

And one there is among them, 

With a star upon her brow, 
In her life a lovely woman, 

A sinless seraph now. 

I know the sweet calm features ; 

The peerless smile I know, 
And I stretch my arms with transport 

From where I stand below. 

And the quick tears drown my eyelids. 

But the airy figures fade. 
And the shining battlements darken 

And blend with the evening shade. 

I am gazing into the twilight 
Where the dim-seen meadows lie, 

And the wind of night is swaying 
The trees with a heavy sigh. 



THE TWO TRAVELLERS. 

'TwAS evening, and before my eyes 
There lay a landscape gray and dim — 

Fields faintly seen and twilight skies, 
And clouds that hid the horizon's brim,, 

I saw — or was it that I dreamed ? 

A waking dream ? — I cannot say. 
For every shape as real seemed 

As those which meet my eyes to-day. 

25 



S86 LATER POEMS. 

Through leafless shrubs the cold wind hissed ; 

The air was thick with falling snow, 
And onward, through the frozen mist, 

I saw a weary traveller go. 

Driven o'er the landscape, bare and bleak, 
Before the whirling gusts of air, 

The snow-flakes, smote his withered cheek, 
And gathered on his silver hair. 



Yet on he fared through blinding snows, 
And raurraurhig to himself he said : 

*' The n^ht is neai' ; the darkness grows, 
And higher rise the drifts I tread. 



" Deep, deep, each autumn flower they hide ; 

Each tuft of green they whelm from sight ; 
And they who journeyed by my side. 

Are lost in the surrounding night. 

" I loved them ; oh, no words can tell 
The love that to my friends I bore ; 

They left me with the sad farewell 
Of those who part to meet no more. 

"And I, who face this bitter wind 
And o'er these snowy hillocks creep, 

Must end my jom-ney soon, and find 
A frosty couch, a frozen sleep." 

As thus he spoke, a thrill of pain 
Shot to my heart — I closed my eyes; 

But when I opened them again, 
I started with a glad surprise. 



THE TWO TEAVELLEES. 387 

'Twas evening still, and in the west 

A flush of glowing crimson lay ; 
I saw the morrow there, and blest 

That promise of a glorious day. 

The waters, in their glassy sleep, 

Shone with the hues that tinged the sky, 

And rugged cliff and barren steep 

Gleamed with the brightness from on high. 

And one was there whose journey lay 

Into the slowly-gathering night ; 
With steady step he held his way, 

O'er shadowy vale and gleaming height. 

I marked his firm though weary tread, 

The lifted eye and brow serene ; 
And saw no shade of doubt or dread 

Pass o'er that traveller's placid mien. 

And others came, their journey o'er. 

And bade good-night, with words of cheers 

" To-morrow we shall meet once more ; 
'Tis but the night that parts us here." 

"And I," he said, " shall sleep ere long ; 

These fading gleams will soon be gone ; 
Shall sleep to rise refreshed and strong 

In the bright day that yet will dawn." 

I heard ; I watched him as he went, 

A lessening form, until the Ught 
Of evening from the firmament 

Had passed, and he was lost to sight. 



388 LATEE POEMS. 



CHRISTMAS IN 1875. 



SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY A SPANIAKD. 

No trumpet-blast profaned 
The hour in which the Pi'ince of Peace was born ; 

No bloody streamlet stained 
Earth's silver rivers on that sacred morn ; 

But, o'er the peaceful plain, 
The war-horse drew the peasant's loaded wain. 

The soldier had laid by 
The sword and stripped the corselet from his breast, 

And hung his helm on high — 
The sparrow's winter home and summer nest ; 

And, with the same strong hand 
That flung the barbed spear, he tilled the land. 

Oh, time for which we yearn ; 
Oh, sabbath of the nations long foretold ! 

Season of peace, return, 
Like a late summer when the year grows old, 

When the sweet sunny days 
Steep mead and mountain-side in golden haze. 

For now two rival kings 
Flaunt, o'er our bleeding land, their hostile flags, 

And every sunrise brings 
The hovering vulture from his mountain-crags 

To where the battle-plain 
Is strewn with dead, the youth and flower of Spain. 



OHKISTMAS IN 1875. 389 

Christ is not come, while yet 
O'er half the earth the threat of battle lowers, 

And our own fields are wet, 
Beneath the battle-cloud, with crimson showers — 

The life-blood of the slain, 
Poured out where thousands die that one may reign. 

Soon, over half the earth. 
In every temple crowds shall kneel again 

To celebrate His birth 
Who brought the message of good-will to men, 

And bursts of joyous song 
Shall shake the roof above the prostrate throng. 

Christ is not come while there 
The men of blood whose crimes affront the skies 

Kneel down in act of prayer, 
Amid the joyous strains, and when they rise 

Go forth, with sword and flame. 
To waste the land in His most holy name. 

Oh, when the day shall break 
O'er realms unlearned in warfare's cruel arts, 

And all their millions wake 
To peaceful tasks performed with loving hearts, 

On such a blessed morn, 
Well may the nations say that Christ is born. 



390 LATER POEMS. 



THE FLOOD OF YEARS. 

A MIGHTY Hand, from an exhaustless Urn, 

Pours forth the never-ending Flood of Years, 

Among the nations. How the rushing waves 

Bear all before them ! On their foremost edge, 

And there alone, is Life. The Present there 

Tosses and foams, and fills the air with roar 

Of mingled noises. There are they who toil. 

And they who strive, and they who feast, and they 

Who hurry to and fro. The sturdy swain — 

Woodman and delver with the spade — is there. 

And busy artisan beside his bench. 

And pallid student with his written roll. 

A moment on the mounting billow seen, 

The flood sweeps over them and they are gone. 

There groups of revellers whose brows are twined 

With roses, ride the topmost swell awhile. 

And as they raise their flowing cups and touch 

The clinking brim to brim, are whirled beneath 

The waves and disappear. I hear the jar 

Of beaten drums, and thunders that break forth 

From cannon, where the advancing billow sends 

Up to the sight long files of armed men. 

That hurry to the charge through flame and smoke. 

The torrent bears them under, whelmed and hid 

Slayer and slain, in heaps of bloody foam. 

Down go the steed and rider, the plumed chief 

Sinks with his followers ; the head that wears 

The imperial diadem goes down beside 

The felon's with cropped ear and branded cheek. 

A funeral-train — the torrent sweeps away 

Bearers and bier and mourners. By the bed 

Of one who dies men gather sorrowing, 

And women weep aloud ; the flood rolls on ; 



THE FLOOD OF YEAES. 391 

The wail is stifled and the sobbing group 

Borne under. Hark to that shrill, sudden shout, 

The cry of an applauding multitude, 

Swayed by some loud-voiced orator who wields 

The living mass as if he were its soul ! 

The waters choke the shout and all is still. 

Lo ! next a kneeling crowd, and one who spreads 

The hands in prayer, the engulfing wave o'ertakes 

And swallows them and him. A sculptor wields 

The chisel, and the stricken marble grows 

To beauty ; at his easel, eager-eyed, 

A painter stands, and sunshine at his touch 

Gathers upon his canvas, and life glows ; 

A poet, as he paces to and fro. 

Murmurs his sounding lines. Awhile they ride 

The advancing billow, till its tossing crest 

Strikes them and flings them under, while their tasks 

Are yet unfinished. See a mother smile 

On her young babe that smiles to her again ; 

The torrent wrests it from her arms ; she shrieks 

And weeps, and midst her tears is carried down. 

A beam like that of moonlight turns the spray 

To glistening pearls ; two lovers, hand in hand, 

Rise on the billowy swell and fondly look 

Into each other's eyes. The rushing flood 

FUngs them apart : the youth goes down ; the maid 

With hands outstretched in vain, and streaming eyes, 

Waits for the next high wave to follow him. 

An aged man succeeds ; his bending form 

Sinks slowly. Mingling with the sullen stream 

Gleam the white locks, and then are seen no more. 

Lo ! wider grows the stream — a sea-like flood 
Saps earth's walled cities ; massive palaces 
Crumble before it ; fortresses and towers 
Dissolve in the swift waters ; populous realms 
Swept by the torrent see their ancient tribes 
Engulfed and lost ; their very languages 
Stifled, and never to be uttered more. 



892 LATER POEMS. 

I pause and turn my eyes, and looking back 
Where that tumultuous flood has been, I see 
The silent ocean of the Past, a waste 
Of waters weltering over graves, its shores 
Strewn with the wreck of fleets where mast and hull 
Drop away piecemeal ; battlemented walls 
Frown idly, green with moss, and temples stand 
Unroofed, forsaken by the worshipper. 
There lie memorial stones, whence time has gnawed 
The graven legends, thrones of kings o'erturned, 
The broken altars of forgotten gods, 
Foundations of old cities and long streets 
Where never fall of human foot is heard. 
On all the desolate pavement. I behold 
Dim glimmerings of lost jewels, far within 
The sleeping waters, diamond, sardonyx. 
Ruby and topaz, pearl and chrysolite. 
Once glittering at the banquet on fair brows 
That long ago were dust, and all ai-ound 
Strewn on the surface of that silent sea 
Are withering bridal wreaths, and glossy locks 
Shorn from dear brows, by loving hands, and scrolls 
O'er written, haply with fond words of love 
And vows of friendship, and fair pages flung 
Fresh from the printer's engine. There they lie 
A moment, and then sink away from sight. 

I look, and the quick tears are in my eyes, 
For I behold in every one of these 
A blighted hope, a separate history 
Of human sorrows, telling of dear ties 
Suddenly broken, dreams of happiness 
Dissolved in air, and happy days too brief 
That sorrowfully ended, and I think 
How painfully must the poor heart have beat 
In bosoms without number, as the blow 
Was struck that slew their hope and broke their peace. 

Sadly I turn and look before, where yet 
The Flood must pass, and I behold a mist 



THE FLOOD OF YEAES. 393 

Where swarm dissolving forms, the brood of Hope. 

Divinely fair, that rest on banks of flowers, 

Or wander among rainbows, fading soon 

And reappearing, haply giving place 

To forms of grisly aspect such as Fear 

Shapes from the idle air — where serpents lift 

The head to strike, and skeletons stretch forth 

The bony arm in menace. Further on 

A belt of darkness seems to bar the way 

Long, low, and distant, where the Life to come 

Touches the Life that is. The Flood of Years 

Rolls toward it near and nearer. It must pass 

That dismal barrier. What is there beyond ? 

Hear what the wise and good have said. Beyond 

That belt of darkness, still the Years roll on 

More gently, but with not less mighty sweep. 

They gather up again and softly bear 

All the sweet lives that late were overwhelmed 

And lost to sight, all that in them was good, 

Noble, and truly great, and worthy of love — 

The lives of infants and ingenuous youths, 

Sages and saintly women who have made 

Their households happy ; all are raised and borne 

By that great current in its onward sweep, 

Wandering and rippling with caressing waves 

Around green islands fragrant with the breath 

Of flowers that never wither. So they pass 

From stage to stage along the shining course 

Of that bright river, broadening like a sea. 

As its smooth eddies curl along their way 

They bring old friends together ; hands are clasped 

In joy unspeakable ; the mother's arms 

Again are folded round the child she loved 

And lost. Old sorrows are forgotten now, 

Or but remembered to make sweet the hour 

That overpays them ; wounded hearts that bled 

Or broke are healed forever. In the room 

Of this grief-shadowed present, there shall be 



394 LATER POEMS. 

A Present in whose reign no grief shall gnaw 
The heart, and never shall a tender tie 
Be broken ; in whose reign the eternal Change 
That waits on growth and action shall proceed 
With everlasting; Concord hand in hand. 



OUR FELLOW- WORSHIPPERS. 

Think not that thou and I 
Are here the only worshippers to-day, 

Beneath this glorious sky, 
'Mid the soft airs that o'er the meadows play 

These airs, whose b'reathing stirs 
The fresh grass, are our fellow-worshippers. 

See, as they pass, they swing, 
The censers of a thousand flowers that bend 

O'er the young herbs of spring. 
And the sweet odors like a prayer ascend. 

While, passing thence, the breeze 
Wakes the grave anthem of the forest-trees. 

It is as when, of yore, 
The Hebrew poet called the mountain-steeps, 

The forests, and the shore 
Of ocean, and the mighty mid-sea deeps, 

And stormy wind, to raise 
A universal symphony of praise. 

For, lo ! the hills around. 
Gay in their early green, give silent thanks ; 

And, with a joyous sound. 
The streamlet's huddling waters kiss their banks, 

And, from its sunny nooks. 
To heaven, with grateful smiles, the valley looks. 



OUE FELLOW-WOESHIPPEES. 395 

The blossomed apple-tree, 
Among its flowery tufts, on every spray, 

Offers the wandering bee 
A fragrant chapel for his matin-lay ; 

And a soft bass is heard 
From the quick pinions of the humming-birdo 

Haply — for who can tell ? — 
Aerial beings, from the world unseen. 

Haunting the sunny dell, 
Or slowly floating o'er the flowery green, 

May join our worship here, 
With harmonies too fine for mortal ear. 



KO TES. 



Page 13. 

POEM OF THB AGES. 

In this poem, written and first printed in the year 1821, Che 
author has endeavored, from a survey of the past ages of the 
world, and of the successive advances of mankind in knowledge, 
virtue, and happiness, to justify and confirm the hopes of dio 
philanthropist for the future destinies of the human race. 

Page 87. 

TnE BUKTAL-PT-AOE. 

The first half of this fraguieni may seem to the reader bor- 
rowed from the essay on Rural Funerals in the fourth number of 
the Sketch-Book. The lines were, however, written more than 
a year before that number appeared. The poem, unfinisiu'd as it 
is, would hardly have been admitted into this collection, liad not 
the author been unwilling to lose what had the honor of resem- 
bling so beautiful a composition. 

Page 48. 

THE MA88A<mE AT 80IO. 

This poem, written aboui iho time of the horrible butchery 
of the Sciatcs by the Turks, in 1824, has been more fortunate 
than most poetical predictions. The independence of the Greek 
nation, which it foretold, has come to pass, and the massacre, by 
inspiring a deeper detestation of their oppressors, did much U> 
aromote that event 

Page 48. 

Her maiden veil, her own hlack hmr. &c. 

"The unmarried females havn a inodost falling down of tibe 
QiJr over the eyes." — Eliot. 



898 ^<^TE8. 

Pajre 69. 

MONUMENT MOXTNTAIN. 

The tnountain called by this name, is a remarkable preclploe 
In Great Barrington, overlooking the rich and picturesque valley 
of the Housatonic, in the western part of Massachusetts. At the 
bouthera extremity is, or was a few years since, a conical pile of 
small stones, erected, according to the tradition of the surround- 
ing coiintiy. by the Indians, in memory of a woman of the Stock- 
bridge tribe, who killed herself by leaping from the edge of thf^ 
precipice. Until within few years past, small parties of that 
tribe used to arrive from their settlement in the wostern part of 
the State of New York, on visits to Stockbridge, the place of their 
nativity and former residence. A young woman belonging to one 
of these parties, related, to a friend of the author, the story on 
which the poem of Mountain Monument is founded. An Indian 
girl had formed an attachment for her cousin, which, according 
to the customs of the tribe, was unlawful. She was, in conse- 
quence, seized with a deep melancholy, and resolved to destroy 
herself. In company with a female friend, she repaired to the 
mountain, decked out for the occasion in all her ornaments, and, 
after passing the day on the summit in singing with her com- 
panion the traditional songs of her nation, she threw herself head- 
long from the rock, and was killed. 

Page 80. 

THE MURDERED TRAVELLER. 

Some years since, in the month of May, the remains of a hu 
man body, partly devoured by wild animals, were found in a 
woody ravine, near a solitary road passing between the mountains 
west of the village of Stockbridge. It was supposed that the per- 
Bon came to his death by violence, but no traces could be discov- 
ered of his murderers. It was only recollected that one evening, 
In the course of the previous winter, a traveller had stopped at 
an inn in the village of West Stockbridge; that lie had inquired 
the way to Stockbridge; and that, in paying the innkeeper for 
something he had ordered, it appeared that he had a considerable 
sum of money in his possession. Two ill-looking men were 
oresent, and went out about the same time that the traveller 
proceeded on his journey. During the winter, also, two men of 
ihabby appearance, but plentifully supplied with money, had lin- 
(fered for awhile about the village of Stockbridge. Several years 
hftorward, a criminal, about to be executed for a capital offence 
In Canada, confessed that he had been concerned in murdering a 
traveller in Stockbridge for the sake of his money. Nothing was 
ever discovered respecting the Ditme or residence of the poraoij 
murdered. 



NOTES. 399 

Pag© 118. 

Chained in the market place he stood, &c. 

The story of the African Chief, relate»l in this ballad, may b« 
found in the African Repository for April, 1825. The subjbct of 
3t was a warrior of majestic stature, the brother of Yarradee, king 
of the Solima nation. He had been taken in battle, and waa 
brought in chains for sale to the Rio Pongas, where he was ex- 
flibited in the market-place, his ankles still adorned with the 
massy rings of gold which he wore when captured. The refusal 
of his captor to listen to his offers of ransom drove him mad, and 
he died a maniac. 

Pago 124. 

THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITEK AND VENUS. 

This conjunction was said in the common calendars to have 
taken place on the 2d of August, 1826. This. I believe, was an 
error, but the apparent approach of the planets was sufficiently 
near for poetical purposes. 

Page 130. 

THE HTTRKIOANB. 

This poem is nearly a translation from one by Jos6 Maria d« 
Heredia, a native of the Island of Cuba, who published at New 
York, about the year 1825, a volume of poems in tho Spanish 
language. 

Page 132. 

WILLIAM TELU 

Neither this, nor any of the other sonnets in the collection, 
with the exception of the one from the Portuguese, is framed ac- 
cording to the legitimate Italian model, which, in the author's 
opinion, possesses no peculiar beauty for an ear accustomed only 
to the metrical forms of our own language. The sonnets in thli" 
ooUection are rather pooms tn fourteen lines than sonnets. 

Page 183. 
The slim papaya ripens, &u 

Papaya— papaw, custard-apple. Flint, in his excellent worfc 
ou the Geography and History of the Western States, thus da- 
icribes this tree and its fruit : 

" A papaw shrub, hanging full of fruits, of a size and weight so 
(Msproportioned to the ftem, and from under long and rich-look 



400 NTOTEa. 

Ing leaves, of the same yellow with the ripened fruit, and <A ai 
Airican luxuriance of growth, is to us one of the richest specta- 
cles that we have ever cuuteinplated in the arra.v of the woods. 
riio f^uit contains fron; two to six seeds like those of the tama- 
rind, except that they are double the size. The pulp of-the fVuit 
resembles egg-custard in consistence and appearance. It has the 
same creamy feeling in the mouth, and uniteb the taste of eggs, 
cream, sugar, and spice. It is a natural custard, too lusdous for 
the relish of most people." 

Chateaubriand, in his Travels, speaks disparagingly of the 
fruit of the papaw; but on the authority of Mr. Flint, who must 
know more of the matter, I have ventured to make my westeru 
lover enumerate it among the delicacies of the wilderness 

Page 147. 

77ie nurface rolls and fluctuates to the eye. 

The prairies of the West, with an undulating surface, rolling 
prairies, as they are called, present to the unaccustomed eye a 
singular spectacle when the shadows of tlie clouds are passing 
rapidly over them. The face of the ground seems to fluctuate 
and toss like billows of the sea. 

Page 147. 

TJie prairie-hmck tJuit, poised on high. 
Flaps hia broad wings, yet inuves not. 

I have seen the prairie-hawk balancing himself in the air foi 
nours together, apparently over the same "spot ; probably watch 
Ing his prey. 

Page 148. 

These ample fluids 
N'ourished their liarvests. 

The size and extent of the mounds in the valley of the Missis 
gippi, indicate the existence, at a remote period, of a nation at 
once populous and laborious, and therefore probably subsistinp 
by Hgriculture. 

Page 149. 

TTis ntde conquerors 
Seated the captiite with their chiefs. 

Instances are not wanting of generosity like this among tht 
North American Indians towards a captive or survivor of a ho^ 
•We tribe on whicl tne greatest cruelties had been exercised 



NOTES. 401 

Page 160. 

SONU OF MAEION'S MBN. 

The exploits of General Francis Marion, the famous partisan 
varrior of South Carolina, form an interesting chapter in the an- 
aals of the American revolution. The troojis were so harasse<3 
by the irregular and successful warfare which he kept up at th« 
head of a few daring followers, that they sent an officer to re- 
monstrate will, him for not coming into the open field and fight- 
ing "like a gentleman and a Christian '' 

Page 16T. 

MAEY MAGDALEN. 

Several learned divines, with much appearance of reason, in 
particular Dr. Lardner, have maintained that the common notion 
respecting the dissolute life of Mary Magdalen is erroneous, and 
that she was always a person of excellent character. Charles Tay- 
lor, the editor of Calmet's Dictionary of the Bible, takes the same 
view of the subject. 

The verses of the Spanish poet here translated refer to tht 
" woman wlio had been a sinner," mentioned in the seventh chap- 
uer of St. Luke's Gospel, and who is oommonly confounded with 
Mary Magdalen. 

Page 159. 

FATIMA AND EADtTAN. 

This and the following poems belong to that class of ancient 
Spanish ballads, by unknown authors, called Romances Moriscoi 
— Moriscan romances or ballads. They were composed in the 
14th century, some of them, probably, by the Moors, who then 
lived intermingled with the Christians ; and they relate the loves 
and achievements of the knights of Grenada. 

Page 161. 

LOVE AND FOLLY. — (FEOM LA FONTAINE.) 

This is rather an imitation than a translation of the poem of 
Oie graceful French fabulist. 

Page 165. 

These eyes shall not recall thee, &c. 

This Is the very expression of the origir.ai--^o te llam,ardn 
mis cjos, «fcc. The Spanish poets early aaopted the practice of 
calling a lady by the name of^ the most exprossive feature of her 
countenance, her eyes. The lover styled his mistress "ojos bel- 
ifw," beautiful eyes; "ojos serenes," serene eyes. Green even 

2G 



402 NOTES. 

Bsem to have been anciently thought a great beauty In Spaliv 
Kud there is a very pretty ballad by an absent lover, In which he 
addressed his lady by the title of "green eyes ; " supplicating that 
he may remain in her remembrance. 

I Ay ojuelos verdes 1 
Ay los mis ojuelosi 
Ay, hagan los cielos 
Que de mi te acuerdes 1 

Page 16T. 

Say, Love— far tJiou didst see her tears, Ac. 

The stanza beginning with this line stands thus in the origi- 
nal : — 

Dilo tu, amor, si lo viste ; 

I Mas ay I que de lastimado 
Diste otro nudo k la venda, 
Para no ver lo que ha pasado. 
I am sorry to find so poor a conceit deforming so spirited a 
ooiviposltion as this old ballad, but I have preserved it in tiie ver- 
sion. It is one of those extravagances which afterwards became 
so common in Spanish poetry, when Gongora introduced the 
estilo ctdto, as it was called. 

Page 168. 

LOVB IN THB AQB OF CHIVALRY. 

This personification of the passion of Love, by Peyre Vidal, 
oae been referred to as a proof of how little the Provenjal poets 
were indebted to the authors of Greece and Rome for the imagery 
of their poems. 

Page 169. 

tllE LOVB OF GOD. — (FEOM THE PROVENgAL OP BKENABD EASOAS.) 

The original of these lines is thus given by John of Nostrada- 
DQUS, in his lives of the Troubadours, in a barbarous Frenchlfie»l 
•rthography : — 

Touta kausa raortala una fes pcrira, 
Fors que I'amour de Dieu, que tousiours durara. 
Tous nostres cors vendran essachs, come fa I'eeka, 
Lous Aubres leyssaran lour verdonr tendra e ftresca, 
Lous Auseelett. del bosc perdran lour kant subtyeu, 
E non s'auzira plus Ion Rossignol gentyeu. 
Lous Buols al Pastourgage, e las blankas fedettas 
Senfran lous agulhons de las mortals Sagettas, 
Lous crestas d' Aries fiers, Renards, e Loiips espars 
Kabrols, Cervys, Chainous, Senglars de toutes pars, 
L >U8 Ours hardys e forts, seran poudra, e Arena. 



N-QTES. 40 B 

iion Daulphin en la Mar, Ion Ton, e la Balena, 

Monstres impetuous, Kyaumes, e Comtas, 

Lous Princes, e lous Rays, seran per mort domtiA. 

E nota ben eyssn kfiscun : la Terra granda, 

(Ou I'Escritura meut) Ion fermament que branda, 

Prendra antra figura. En tin tout perira, 

Fors que rAmour de Dieu, que touiours durara. 

Page 17C 

FROM THE SPANISH OF PEDEO DB OASTBO T ANATA. 

Las Auroras de Diana, in which the original of these line! 
;o contained, is, notwithstanding it was praised by Lope de Vega, 
on« of the worst of the old Spanish Romances, being a tissue of 
riddles and affectations, with now and then a little poem of con- 
^derable beauty. 

Page 184. 

EAETH. 

The author began this poem in rhyme. The following is the 
ftrst draught of it as far as he proceeded, in a stanza whici h* 
found it convenient to abandon. 
A midnight black with clouds is on the sky ; 

A shadow like the first original night 
Folds in, and seems to press me as I lie ; 

No image meets the vainly wandering sight, 
And shot through rolling mists no starlight gleam 
Glances on glassy pool or rippling stream. 

No ruddy blaze, from dwellings bright within, 
Tinges the flowering summits of the grass ; . 

No sound of life is heard, no village din. 
Wings rustling overhead or steps that pass, 

While, on the breast of earth at random thrown, 

I listen to her mighty voice alone. 

A voice of many tones ; deep murmurs sent 

Prom waters that in darkness glide away, 
From woods unseen by sweeping breezes bent, 

From rocky chasms where darkness dwells all day, 
And hollows of the invisible hills around. 
Blent in one ceaseless, melancholy sound. 

Oh Earth 1 dost thou, too, sorrow for the past ? 

Mourn'st thou thy childhood's unretuming hoars» 
Thy springs, that briefly bloomed and faded fast, 

The gentle generations of thy flowers, 
rhy forests of the elder time, decayed 
And gone with all the tribes that loved their shade f 



404 NOTES. 

VJoiim'sl thou that first fair time so early loel, 

The goldi'ii Mge that Uves in poets' strains, 
Ere hail or lightning, whirlwind, flood or frost 

Scathed thy green breast, or earthquakes whelmed tby lil.ilija 
Ere blood upon the shuddering ground was spilt, 
Or night was haunted by disease and guilt? 

Or haply dost thou grieve for those who die ? 

For living things that trod awhile thy face, 
The love oi thee and heaven, and now they lie 

Mixed with the shapeless dust the wild winds chafiof 
I, too, must grieve, for never on thy sphere 
Shall those blight forms and faces reappear. 

Ha 1 with a deeper and more thrilling tone. 

Rises that voice around me, 'tis the cry 
Of Earth for guilt and wrong, the eternal moan 

Sent to the listening and long-suflPering sky. 
I hear and tremble, and my heart grows faint. 
As midst the night goes up that great complaint. 

Page 199. 

Where Isar''8 clay-white rivulets run 
Through the dark woods, like frighted deer. 

Close to the city of Munich, in Bavaria, lies the spacious and 
hcautiful pleasure-ground, called the English Garden, in wlrich 
these lines were written, originally projected and laid out by oiii 
p.ountryman. Count Eumford, under the auspices of one of the 
Bovereigns of the country. Winding walks of great extent. [>a.ss 
through close thickets and groves interspersed with lawnt*: and 
streams, diverted from the river Isar, traverse the groumls swiftly 
In various directions, the water of which, stained vvitli the clay 
of the soil it has corroded in its descent from the upper country, 
is frequently of a turbid white color. 

Page 204. 

THB GBEEN MOTTNTAIN B0T8. 

This song refers to the expedition of the Vermontoia, com- 
uianded by Ethan Allen, by whom the British fort of Ticon- 
deroga, on Lake Champlain, wassurprised and taken, in May. 1 77C 

Page 206. 

THE child's FtTNEUAU 

The incident on which this ptiem is founded was related U 
the author while in Europe, in a letter from an English l:idy. A 
ehild 'tied in the south of Italy, and when they went to buiy it 



K0TK8. 405 

lliey found It revived and playing with the flowers whicA, aftei 
tljd mjinner of that country, had been brought to grace its funeral 

Page 211. 

'7*M sa'td, when Schiller^ 8 death drew nigh. 
The wish possessed his mighty mind. 

To wander forth wherever lie 
Tlie homes and haunts of human kind. 

eh >rtly before the death of Schiller, he was seized with % 
strong desire to travel in foreign countries, as if his spirit had a 
presentiment ot its approaching enlargement, and already longed 
Ui expatiate In a wider and more varied sphere of existence. 

Page 2ia 

Thejioroer 
Of Sanguinaria,from, whose irittle stem 
The red drops fell like Mood. 

The Sam.gwinaria Canadensis, or blood-root, as it is com- 
uionly called, bears a delicate white flower of a musky scent, the 
stem of which breaks easily, and distils a juice of a bright red 
color. 

Page 219. 

The shad-bush, white withftowera^ 
Brightened the glens. 

The small tree, named by the botanists Aronia Botyrapium, 
s called, in some parts of our country, the shad-bush, from the 
eircumstance that it flowers about the time that the shad ascend 
the rivers in early spring. Its delicate sprays, covered with white 
Mosfloms l)cfore the trees are yet in leaf, have a singularly beau- 
ifflii appearance in the woods. 

Pago 220. 

" There hast thou,'^ said my friend, " a fitting type 
Of human life. 

I remember hearing an aged man, in the country, compare 
iiv slow movement of time in early life and its swift flight as 11 
approaches old age, to the drumming of a partridge cr ruffed 
^ouse In the woods — the strokes falling slow and distinct at first, 
^.nd following each other more and more rapidly, till they end at 
I«et in a whirnn<r sound. 



406 NOTES. 

Page 222. 

AN EVENING EBVEEY. — FEOM AN UNFINUHSD POIEM. 

This poem and that entitled the Fountain, with one or tM > 
others in blank verse, were intended by the author as portioub 
of a larger poem, in which they may hereafter take their place. 

Page 224. 

The/reeh savannas of the Sangamon 
Here rise in genUe swells, and the long grass 
Is miored wiVv rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts 
Are glowing m the green, likejlakes ofjire. 

The Painted Cup, Euohroma Coccinea, or Bartsia Cocoinea 
5row8 in great abundance in the hazel prairies of the western 
states, where its scarlet tufts make a brilliant appearance in the 
midst of the verdure. The Sangamon is a beautiful river, tribu- 
tary to the Illinois, bordered with rich prairies. 

Page 233. 

The long wave rolling from the southern pole 
To break upon Japan. 

" Breaks the long wave that at the pole began." — Tennknt'e 
A-N8TKE Faib. 

Pago 234 

At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee 
And worshipped. 

" Evening and morning, and at noon, will I pray and crj ak u»l. 
<ini he shall hear my voice." — Psalm Iv. 17. 

Page 237. 

THE WHITE-FOOTED DEEK. 

" During the stay of Long's Expedition at Engineer Canton- 
ment, three specimens of a variety of the common deer were 
brought In, having all the feet white near the hoofs, and extend- 
ing to those on the hind feet from a little above the spuriout 
hoofs. This white extremity was divided, upon the sides of tbo 
foot, by the general color of the leg, which extends down near to 
the hoofs, leaving a white triangle in front, of which the point 
wsfl elevated rather higher than the spurious hoofs." — Qoduan'is 
Watttbal Histcby, vol. ii. p. 814. 



NOTES. 407 

Page 269. 

THE LOST BIRD. 

Eeaders who are acquainted with the Spanish language, mi\} 
)t be displeased at seeing the original of this little poem : 

EL PAJAEO PBKDIDO. 

Huyo con vuelo incierto, 

Y do mis ojos ha desparecido. 
Mirad, si, a vuestro huerto. 

Mi pajaro querido, 

Ninas hermosas, por acaso ha huido. 

Sus ojos relucientes 

Son como los del aguila orgullosa ; 
Plumas resplandecientes, 

En la cabeza airosa, 

Lleva ; y su voz es tierna y armoniosa. 

Mirad, si cuidadoso 

Junto a las flores se escondio en la grama 
Ese laurel frondoso 

Mirad, rama por rama. 

Que 61 los laureles y los flores ama. 

Si le hallais, por ventura, 

No 08 enamore su amoroso acento ; 
No OS prende su hermosm*a ; 

Volvedmele al momento ; 

dejadle, si no, libre en el viento. 

For que su pico de oro 
Solo en mi mano toma la semilla : 

Y no enjugare el lloro 
Que veis en mi mejilla, 
Hasta encontrar mi profugo avecilla. 

Mi "\ista se oscurece, 

Si sus ojos no ve, que son mi dia. 
Mi anima desfallece 

Con la melancolia 

De no escucharle ya su melodia. 

The literature of Spain at the present day has this peculiar 
lij, that female writers have, in considerable number, entered 
Into competition with the other sex. One of the most remark 
»ble of these, as a writer of both prose and poetry, is Carolins 



408 NOTSS5. 

C^oronado de Perry, the author of the little pooiu lure given, 
The poetical literature of Spain has felt the intlueuco of the 
female mind in the infusion of a certain delicacy and tender- 
ness, and the more frequent choice of subjects which interest 
the domestic aifectious. Concerning the verses of the lady 
already mentioned, Don Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, one of 
the most accomplished Si)aiiish critics of the present day, and 
himself a successful dramatic writer, says: 

" If Carolina Coronado had, through modesty, sent her pro- 
ductions from Estremadm-a to Madrid under the name of a per- 
son of the other sex, it would still have been difficult for intel- 
ligent readers to persuade themselves that they were written 
by a man, or at least, considering their graceful sweetness, 
purity of tone, simplicity of conception, brevity of develop- 
ment, and delicate and particular choice of subject, we should 
be constrained to attribute them to one yet in his early youth, 
whom the imagination would represent as ingenuous, innocent, 
and gay, who had scarce ever wandered beyond the flowery 
grove or pleasant valley where his cradle was rocked, and 
where he had been lulled to sleep by the sweetest songs of 
Francisco de la Torre, Garcilaso, and Melendez," 

The author of the Pajaro Perdido, according to a memoir 
of her by Angel Fernandez de los Eios, was born at Almen- 
dralejo, in Estremadura, in 1823. At the age of nine years she 
began to steal from sleep, after a day passed in various lessons, 
and in domestic occupations, several hours every night to read 
the poets of her country, and other books belonging to the library 
of the household, among which are mentioned, as a proof of her 
vehement love of reading, the Critical History of Spain, by the 
Abb6 Masuden, "and other works equally dry and prolix." 
She was afterwards sent to Badajoz, where she received the 
best education which the state of the country, then on fire 
with a civil war, would admit. Here the intensity of her ap- 
plication to her studies caused a severe malady, which has fre- 
quently recurred in after-life. At the age of thirteen years she 
wrote a poem entitled La Palma, which the author of her 
biography declares to be worthy of Herrera, and which led 
Espronceda, a poet of Estremadura, a man of genius, and the 
author of several translations from BjTon, whom he resembled 
both in mental and personal chai-acteristics, to addi-ess her an 
eulogistic sonnet. In 1843, when she was but twenty years 
old, a volume of her poems was published at Madrid, in which 
were included both that entitled La Pahna and the one I have 
given in this note. To this volume Hartzenbusch, in his admi- 
ration for her genius, prefaced an introduction. 

The task of ■writing verses in Spanish is not diflBcult. 
Ehymes are readily found, and the language is easily moulded 
into metrical forms. Those who have distinguished them- 
selves in this literature have generally made their first essays 
In verse. What is remarkable enough, the men who afterward 



NOTES. 409 

3gtire in jiolitioal life mostly begin their career as the aatLore 
of raadrigals. A pocin introduces the future sfcatesmau to tL ■ 
public^ as a speech ut a popular meeting introduces the candi- 
ililc lor political distinction in this country. I have heard of 
but one of the eminent Spanish politicians of the present time, 
who made a boast that he was innocent of poetry, and if all 
that his enemies say of him be true, it would have been well 
both for his country and his own fame, if he had been equally 
innocent of corrupt practices. The compositions of Carolina 
Coronado, even her earliest, do not deserve to be classed with 
the productions of which we have spoken, and which are sim ■ 
ply the effect of inclination and facility. They possess tho 
meats diviiiior. 

In 1852 a collection of the poems of Carolina Coronado was 
brought out at Madrid, including those which were first pub 
lished. The subjects are of larger variety than those which 
prompted her earlier productions ; some of them are of a reii ■ 
gious cast, others refer to political matters. One of them, 
which appears among the " Improvisations," is an energetic 
protest against erecting a new amphitheatre for bull-tights. 
The spirit of all her poetry is humane and friendly to the bes', 
interests of mankind. 

Her writings in prose must not be overlooked. Among tnem 
is a novel entitled Sigea, founded on the adventures "of Ca- 
moens ; another entitled Jarilla, a beautiful story, full of pic- 
tures of rural life in Estremadura, which deserves, if it could 
find a competent translator, to be transferred to our language. 
Besides these there are two other novels from her pen, Faquita 
and La Luz del Tejo. A few years since appeared, in a Madrid 
periodical, the Semanario^ a series of letters written by her, 
giving an account of the impressions received in a journey 
from the Tagus to the Rhine, including a visit to England. 
Among the subjects on which she has written, is the idea, still 
warmly cherished in Spain, of uniting the entire peninsula 
under one government. In an ably-conducted journal of 
Madrid, she has given accounts of the poetesses of Spain, her 
contemporaries, with extracts from their writings, and a kindly 
estimate of their respective merits. 

ller biographer speaks of her activity and efficiency in char 
(tp.ble enterprises, her interest in tho cause of education, hei 
visits to the primary schools of Madrid, encouraging and 
rewarding the pupils, and her patronage of the escuela de 

KarznUoti, or infant school, at Badajoz, established by a society 
1 that oily, with the design of improving the education of the 
'aboring class. 

It must have been not long after the publication of her 
poems, in 1852, that Carolina Coronado became the wife of an 
American gentleman, Mr. Horatio J. Perry, at one time oui 
Secretary of Legation at the Court of Madrid, afterward oui 
Charge d''Af aires, and now, in 18C3, again Secretaiy of Lega- 



410 N'OTH&. 

tion. Amidst the duties of a wife and tncither, which she 
talfils with exemplary fidelity and grace, she has not either 
forgotten or forsaken the literary pursuits which have given 
her so high a reputation. 

Page 294. 

THE RUINS OF ITALIC A. 

The poems of the Spanish author, Francisco de Eioja, who 
lived in the first half of the seventeenth century, are few in 
number, but mnch esteemed. His ode on the Kuins of Italica 
is one of the most admired of these, but in the only collection 
of his poems which I have seen, it is said that the concluding 
stanza, in the original copy, was deemed so little worthy of the 
rest that it was purposely omitted in the pubhcation. Italica 
was a city founded by the Romans in the South of Spain, the 
remains of which are still an object of interest 

Page 307. 

BELLA. 

Sella is the name given by the Vulgate to one of the wives 
of Lamech, mentioned in the fourth chapter of the Book of 
Genesis, and called Zillah in the common English version of 
the Bible. 

Page 821. 

HOMEE'S ODT88EY, BOOK V., TKAN8LATED. 

It may be esteemed presumptuous in the author of this vol- 
ume to attempt a translation of any part of Homer in blank 
verse after that of Cowper. It has always seemed to him, 
however, that Cowper's version had very great defects. Th« 
style of Homer is simple, and he has been praised for fire and 
rapidity of narrative. Does anybody find these qualities in 
Cowper's Homer? If Cowper had rendered him into such 
English as he employed in his " Task," there would be no 
reason to complain ; but in translating Homer he seems to 
have thought it necessary to use a diflferent style from that of 
his original works. Almost every sentence is stiffened by 
Bome clumsy inversion ; stately phrases are used when sim pier 
ones were at hand, and would have rendered the meaning of 
the original better. The entire version has the appearance of 
being hammered out with great labor, and as a whole it is cold 
and constrained ; scarce anything seems spontaneous ; it is 
snly now and then that the translator has caught the fervor of 
1213 author. Homer, of course, wrote in idiomatic Greek, and, 
n order to produce either a true copy of the original, or an 



NOTES. 411 

igreeable poem, should have been translated into idiomatk 

English. 

I am almost ashamed, after this censm-e of an author, whona, 
in the main, I admire so much as I do Cowper, to refer to my 
own translation of the Fifth Book of the Odyssey. I desira 
barely to say that I have endeavored to give the verses of tb« 
old Greek poet at least a simpler presentation in English, aad. 
one more conformable to the genius of our language. 

Page 356. 

The mock-grape's Mood-red banner, etc. 

Ampelopis, mock-grape. I have here hterally translated the 
botanical name of the Virginia creeper — an appellation too cum- 
brous for verse. 

Page 362. 

A BBIGHTBE DAY. 

This poem was written shortly after the author's return firom 
a visit to Spain, and more than a twelvemonth before the over- 
throw of the tyrannical government of Queen Isabella and the 
expulsion of the Bourbons. It is not "from the Spanish " in 
the ordinary sense of the phrase, but is an attempt to put into a 

goetic form sentiments and hopes which the aufiior frequently 
eard. during his visit to Spain, from the lips of the natives. 
We are yet to see whether these expectations of an enlightened 
povermnent and national Uberty are to become a reality under 
f«i8 ^ew order of things. 



(1) 



THi?, END. 



aSAR31 1906 



